At the Edge We Stand
by ThatDrocker59
Summary: The world has never been the most stable of places, what with countries fighting for power, rising tensions, and a presidential election in full swing. But when a massive typhoon spawns out of nowhere and cargo ships begin to go missing, the world's stability is only going to get worse. Set at the very beginning of the Abyssal war.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a quick Author's note. This is my first story, so there might be a few errors. I need criticism and advice to help improve to story, so if you see or think of something to make it better, go ahead and say it.**

 **This story came about because I got tired of the lack of serious fics in the fandom. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good light-hearted story. It's like eating cotton-candy, tasty and enjoyable, but lacks substance. Sometimes you just want a little meat, and that's how this fic starte** **d.**

 **Chapter 1**

 **It's the Year 2020, and Nothing Has Changed**

The year is 2020, and the world was as stable as it has always is; which is to say as stable as a Jenga game with most of the piece missing. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea has continued its research of nuclear weapons and missile tests. China is continuing to build up its presence in the South China Sea, despite pressure from other countries in the region such as Vietnam, Taiwan, and the Philippines, as well as the U.S. who feels threatened by China's growth in power.

Europe has not been faring much better; the European Union was increasing its stranglehold on the counties within it. The bureaucrats of the E.U. had been trying to increase the amount of control that Brussels had over the sovereign nations of the E.U., though so far, they had no army. It was clear to most that the E.U. was heading for a new supper state, one that could rival the U.S. or China. Migrants, from the Middle East, continued to flood Europe, causing the crime rate and terror attacks to climb continuously.

The United States is currently in a tumultuous state as well; the election cycle is a volatile as it has always been. The candidates running seem more interested in attacking each other over personality, rather than policies that could help the nation. While the political figureheads talk, violent clashes erupt across the country as polite discourse, and free speech gives way to political violence and lines are drawn. Neither side seems willing to budge on any topic, with the one group screaming about the emotions of the citizens while the other yells word salads to distract people from the real issues.

* * *

 **5/6/2020 - 6:30 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

"According to the polls done by Gallup and other sites, this year's election could be one of the closest races in decades. Current polls say it's about 51% and 49% between the respective candidates, the margin for error in most polls is about 3%, so this election …"

Nikolas Amos sighed as he turned off the radio. While he did miss being in the good old United States, little love was lost for U.S. politics. Sure, he thought it was his duty as an American to inform himself on it and try to keep up to date with what both sides were arguing for, but it was times like these that made him dislike politics. The presidential elections were always the same; it was the same talking points with neither side making new arguments. The only thing either party cared about was staying in power and making as much money for their corporate overlords as they could.

He looked back at his desk from the radio and frowned at the piled paperwork on top of it. It was standard reports, requests, and day to day paperwork that needed to be done. Standing up from his desk, Amos did a bit of stretching. Being in the navy required a lot more paperwork than most people thought. Walking over to the nearby window, Amos looked out at the harbor where the U.S Seventh Fleet sat anchored. The admiration building that Arden worked in while not out a sea overlooked the ship he crewed, the USS Perry, a guided missile class destroyer.

"How is the paperwork coming along Lieutenant Amos?" asked a voice from behind Amos.

Turning around, Amos saw his commanding officer and captain of the Perry, Taylor Emerson. Emerson was in his 50s, and a fairly laid-back captain when off the ship. He stood roughly 6ft and looked a little bit like old George Clooney. Many sailors saw him as that favorite uncle. Always there to give advice on life and more than willing to share a beer with the men.

His fellow captains respected Emerson and having served for well over thirty years; he had served on many ships throughout his career. When Emerson reached his twenty years of service, he was offered a promotion to the rank of Rear Admiral, allowing him to command a ship of his choice. Many of his fellow officers thought that he would choose an amphibious assault ship or an aircraft carrier. Many were surprised when Emerson not only decided to command a destroyer but also to remain a captain.

When asked why he responded "I don't want to be stuck at a desk for the rest of my career. I enjoy being out on the seas and well as being able to teach the next generations of sailors."

"Almost done Captain, just a few papers for you to sign and we should be all set for tomorrow," Amos answered as he put the papers on Emerson desk. "Though it's Lieutenant Commander now. Don't tell me you're losing your memory already?

"Me? Losing my memory, why, I have no idea what you're talking about. Since when did you become Lieutenant Commander." Emerson smiled as he walked to his large oak desk in front of the window overlooking the harbor.

"Oh, I don't know, about a day before we left on for the two weeks of 'Freedom of Navigation' sailing action we did." Amos chuckled as walked back over to his desk

"Oh yeah, I do recall promoting you. How does it feel?" Emerson asked with a cheeky smile.

Amos rolled his eyes in exasperation, Emerson had asked him the same question the day he had promoted him. "Oh, shove off, you've got paperwork to finish, so the men don't sit around base all day tomorrow."

Emerson raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll get to signing."

Both of them shared a chuckle as they finished the paperwork. The Perry had recently come back from a six-week deployment doing more Freedom of Navigation sailing through the South China Sea. It was a little more than just going through the sea to challenge China's authority in the region. The U.S navy regularly does such actions whenever a country makes such exaggerated claims to parts of the sea.

"How do you think China will react to the launch?" Amos said, his face growing somber.

"With their usual bluster." Emerson flatly replied, giving a deadpan look. "They'll claim that Japan is threatening peace in the region and how this is a violation of Japan's constitution. Unfortunately, they'll have at least some ground to stand on with the constitutional violation."

"Don't forget 'the United States is corrupting Asian countries and turning them against China.' All the while building more bases in on artificial islands and claiming the bases are for civilian use."

Tension over the South China Sea wasn't putting China in hot water with just the United States. Due to making moves to claim the Senkaku islands, if one was Chinese, or the Diaoyu islands, if one was Japanese. The dispute was making Japan far less than friendly towards China. The islands were claimed by both counties and were being a major point of tension between Japan and China. The dispute combined with a number of other facts like economic pressure, other territorial disputes and China's general hatred for Japan ever since the second world war had been making the Japanese government feel less than comfortable with their current military size.

Tomorrow, Japan would launch its largest aircraft carrier since WW2, the Kūchū bōei. While Japan was producing the Izumo-class helicopter carrier, they didn't have a catapult launcher that is needed for most fixed winged aircraft. Though the carriers could potentially hold twenty vertical takeoff variants of the F-35. The production of the carrier hadn't been the only thing the Japanese government had gotten up too; they had also increased its defense spending as well as up recruitment campaigns for its armed forces. The moves were not well received by either the Japanese public or the Chinese government. The public was displeased that its military was taking more of the budget and the Chinese by the increasing power of a rival nation and the potential threats it could pose to its own power.

Many officials were worried that China would merely preemptively strike at the launch of the Kūchū bōei to try and knock out the ship and as many leaders as they could before a war started. As such, only the Prime minister of Japan and second in command of the 7th Fleet Rear Admiral Eldon Chester would be speaking at the launching.

No one wanted war, it's expensive, and in the end, it would only damage the countries involved. The problem was that neither side was willing to back down, if one party did back down, then the other would keep pushing.

"What do you say to going and deliver the good news to the boys, Commander," Emerson asked as he made his way toward the door.

"Why not, I've already finished the paperwork. Might as well take a walk around." Amos smiled as he got up to follow Emerson out. It had taken hours to work through the small mountain of paperwork that was required after completing a deployment. There were reports required from both himself and the captain, all to fulfill someone in the Chain of Command's hard on for bureaucracy. The shore leave forms were relatively simple, just requiring the captain's signature.

"How much longer do you think this peace will last before someone finally snaps," Amos asked as they exited the building.

"Honestly, I don't know, but if I had to say, it would be either by the end of the year or the next. Humanity tends to try and destroy itself through stupid actions that seem sound at the time." Emerson rolled his shoulders as they made their way to the barracks "For now, just forget about that and just think about hitting the bar tonight."

"Did I hear something about a bar" called a voice from behind the two.

Turning around Amos saw Walter Cavan walking up behind them. Cavan was the Chief Quartermaster for the U.S. Yokosuka naval base. He was in his early 30s, looked to be in his twenties, a reasonably tall man with a fairly average build and a friendly disposition. The man loved his jokes and enjoyed watching for the bright side of life, complete with the song. Neptune help you if you messed with his neatly ordered supply depot, though.

"Greetings Master Chief Cavan, how have things been going on your end of the harbor?" Amos turned to greet the man.

"Well enough as the current events can supply Commander Amos. I'm sorry I interrupted your conversation Capt. Emerson, but I couldn't help but overhear something about a bar." Walter responded while giving the two of them a salute, his boyish face showing no signs of being sorry while his grass green eyes shone with mirth.

"All's fine Cavan, as for what Amos and I were doing, we were on our way to inform the men that they would have the night and tomorrow off for the ceremony." Emerson acknowledged the salute as he continued towards the barrack "Though there will be a caveat that they'll have to deal with."

"Oh, and what could that be Capt., and what does it have to do with a bar?" Walter asked as he walked alongside Amos and Emerson.

"You'll hear in a bit." Emerson simply smiled.

Entering the barrack, the three walked toward the section that held the Perry's crew. Upon opening the door, Amos could see most of Perry's crew relaxing from the time spent at sea.

"Captain in the room" stated one of the sailors, as the rest stopped what they were doing and turned to their captain and gave a salute with eager looks.

"Well gentlemen, we've just come back from a six-week excursion at sea, and the moment we get back, you all swamp Commander Amos and myself with piles of paperwork." Emerson stated with a stern look on his face "Maybe Amos, and I wanted to kick back and relax like the rest of you."

No one said anything, the men looking slightly off-put by the statement that their captain had just made, thinking that they wouldn't be getting any shore leave for another few days. Amos was busy trying to keep a straight face; he knew full well that Emerson was giving them a hard time so that the next part would hit home.

"So, in light of all this paperwork that you made the XO and I do, I'm giving you all shore leave with one punishment." The men started to look hopeful, thinking that they would maybe have to do some extra cores or something. "That condition being you have to spend the night with the three of us." Emerson finished as he motioned toward himself, Amos and Walter.

"Permission to speak freely, sir" one sailor spoke asked

"Granted."

"Does this punishment allow us to get plastered during the duration, so we don't have to listen to your stories of old?"

"Well if they are so horrible to listen to, I might just make you be the designated driver" Emerson joked as he left the room, a smirk on his face.

* * *

 **5/6/2020 - 8:42 PM**

 **Yokosuka, Japan**

"I have to say, Emerson, I didn't think you could pull off the plaid and jeans outfit." Cavan joked as he sat back, taking a drink from his 10th mug of beer. Despite his young appearance, Cavan could down his drinks and hold them better than an alcoholic

"That's just because you've never seen me in it, and you would be surprised how well the lumberjack look works. It just takes knowing how to wear it just right, that and having the looks to that go well with it helps too." Emerson replied smoothly, sipping from his glass of rum.

Amos couldn't help but chuckle, he had only seen Emerson in the lumberjack outfit a few times that they had gone drinking. For as laid back as Emerson normal was and his willingness to drink with his men; He didn't go out with the men all that often, preferring to stay on base and read a book.

"I've got to ask Commander, how long have you known the Captain?" asked Malone, one of the new sailors from the Perry.

"Ever since I got my first posting eight years ago," Amos replied as he sipped his bourbon whiskey. The drink giving a pleasant burning sensation in the back of his throat

"And those first few weeks you were under my command were a pain-in-the-arse." Grumbled Emerson as he took a sip "You were so wet behind the ears that you could've put a turbine behind them and powered a Nimitz class carrier."

"OIY, I wasn't that bad." Amos whined, his face turning a light shade of red "I never missed PT and was always got to meetings five minutes before they started."

"I know, but you couldn't get your uniform on properly most days, you memorized the handbook, you brought bright red luggage with logos on them, and had a way too cheerful personality."

"Wait, you memorized the freaking handbook?" Cavan exclaimed, looking like he was barely able to keep himself from laughing his ass off. "No one memorizes the handbook, not even the drill sergeants."

"Oh, those aren't the only things he did while wet, there was this one time that he …."

"Sir! As much as I respect you as both my commanding officer and the favorite uncle, I would greatly appreciate it if you did not bring that up." Amos cut it, his face turning red from almost having one of those events get spilled.

"Oh, come on, now you have to tell us, sir." Another one of the sailors prompted.

"Well, I could …." Emmerson trailing off, looking at Amos with a knowing look.

"Sir, if you don't tell them, I will do all of your paperwork for a month," Amos said, a bit of panic in his voice as he attempted to keep his secrets hidden.

"Tempting" Emerson replied with a grin on his face, knowing he could get more out of Amos if he kept pushing.

"I'll also pay for your drinks," Amos added quickly, knowing full well that Emerson would tell if he didn't sweeten the pot.

"Alright boys, no story time tonight." Emmerson laughed as he sat back in his chair, as the others grumbled about not getting to watch their Lieutenant Commander get embarrassed by the Captain.

"A shame, information always has a use." Stated a voice from behind the group. Turning his head, Amos saw Jaxson Haywood, chief of naval intelligence at the base. Haywood was the kind of man you would lose in a crowd quite quickly. He wasn't handsome or that great looking, but erred on the above average. He just above average height at about 5'9. His short blond hair and plane build adding to the mix. His most distinguishing feature would be his ice blue eyes, that shone with a sharp focus and awareness, always wary. The joke and rumor around the base were he had spent time as a C.I.A spook before joining ONI.

"Haywood, good see you, too what do we owe the pleasure?" Cavan asked.

"Things are currently quiet, and there hasn't been much chatter to go on right now," Haywood said as he pulled up a chair. "I hadn't left the office for nineteen hours and my second told me to get out before I start to collect pigeon shit on me." he finished, entirely straight-faced. Causing several of the men at the table to burst out laughing.

That was a thing with Haywood, he never really seems to get to the jokes, that, or he didn't have a sense of humor. His face was neutral as always; it was a rare sight to see any other emotion other than poker face which led him to win almost every poker game that he was ever invited to. There weren't many men left on the base that would invite him to a poker game if they could get him away from his office long enough.

" _[What would you like to have]_?" asked the waitress as she walked over.

"[ _Scotch on ice please]_ ," Haywood replied in Japanese, the waitress nodding as she walked away to get the order.

"Such a polite language Japanese, it's amazing how often one has to talk around a subject rather than just say it," Haywood stated as he sat back. "Did you know that they don't even have a way to say 'you should do that'? The closest they have is "it would be wise if you did that."

"Agreed, must make for some intense passive-aggressive conversations." Amos chuckled, imagining scenarios. Everyone at the Yokosuka naval base could speak Japanese well enough to hold a basic conversation. One needed to when bases in Japan with a base that was practically built into the town itself.

"So, now that we can't find out about Amos dirty secrets, what else shall we talk about," Cavan asked, always one to try to keep a conversation going.

"The growing tension over the South China Sea, the potential dangers of tomorrow's ceremony, or we could talk about…" Haywood started

Amos groaned under his breath, that was another thing about Haywood. He never seemed to read the blasted atmosphere. If he had a thought or an opinion a situation, he would give it to you as blunt as a sledge hammer strapped to a rocket. And there were the times like these where he would kill the mood by saying something so off.

"That's enough Haywood." Emerson cut in, glaring at him. "We came here tonight to forget about that. Let's have the night off before worrying about the future. So, changing topics, did I tell you guys about the time …." Emerson started, starting to get into one of his stories about his past ventures in the navy.

 **Fin.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

 **Stage Set**

 **5/6/20 - 4:50 PM**

 **New York, United States**

"Moving on from the campaign trail, we now move to the Pacific and the rising tensions between China, the U.S, and its allies. China has continued the expansion of its claims in the region of the South China sea by dredging up even more sand from the ocean to build yet another artificial island to build more military bases on. While official Chinese sources claim that they would be for civilian use, most military and political experts say that China is simply using that as an excuse to consolidate power in the region."

"Also, later today, for the first time since the second world war, Japan will be launching its first 'official' aircraft carrier, the Kūchū bōei. The reason I say 'official' in quotations is because Japan technically already has aircraft carriers, the Izumo class. The Izumo class are officially classed as a helicopter carrier, though it is estimated to be able to carry 20 vertical takeoff planes. The production of the Kūchū bōei has been quite controversial. Some, such as China and the Philippines, see this as Japan rearming itself and has fears that Japan will go back to the 1930's and 40's in its future actions. Officials at the white house say that it's time to give back Japan control over its own military."

"China has denounced this as an act of aggression by Japan and its western allies. China claims that Japan is seeking to rebuild their Asian empire and that the U.S is supporting such actions. So far, the UN is in a deadlock, with China pushing for action against Japan while the U.S Blocks any action against Japan. Since both countries have permanent seats on the defense counsel, nothing will really ever get done through such actions. So far, nothing has come of this unsteady peace that exists, or at least that we know of."

"Leaving the discussion of politics, here's your local weather report."

* * *

 **5/7/2020 - 5:50 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Amos groaned as his alarm started blaring. Reaching over, he slapped at the accursed machine until finally hitting the buzzer. With the bliss of silence returning, Amos pulled himself from his warm and comfy bed into a sitting position, wincing slightly when his head started pounding.

Last night had been enjoyable, Emerson had gone on for at least 2 hours, recalling old stories about his time in the navy. While distracted by the stories, many in the group stopped paying attention to how much alcohol they were consuming. He was thankful that Haywood had stopped him before he placed the order for the 7th glass. Any more and he might have been so hungover that he would have had to spend the entire ceremony with a skull that had decided that it was a great time to start major construction. With nothing but jackhammers. The water that he had gotten down definitely helped, but one needs more than more than 2 glasses of it to outweigh 6 glasses of bourbon whiskey.

' _Still, no point in complaining'_ Amos thought as he stood up. The clock read 5:50 am as he walked over to the bathroom and downed a glass full of water while giving himself a once over. His dark brown hair looked as though it had been stuck in a dryer and was going every which way. Thankfully, there weren't any bags under his chocolate eye. Being in the navy meant that sometimes you needed to work long hours. He quickly shaved the stubble that had grown overnight, wishing that the navy didn't have such strict rules on facial hair. If the crappy Army and Marines could do it, why couldn't the illustrious navy do it? Or maybe that was the point, to show that navy men took better care of themselves then the army, and thus, better than the army and marines.

 _Well, no point in delaying might as well go stretch my legs before I lose feeling in them later today_. He thought as he quickly slapped some water onto his face and hair. He exited the bathroom to get changed. Slipping on running shorts, a tee-shirt, and his running shoes before exiting his quarters.

As he exited and did some warm-up stretches, light from the dawn was starting to cast red over the sky, throwing the color across the harbor. The distant sounds of heavy machines could be heard in the distance as ships came in, supplies offloaded, and on loaded onto different boats throughout the naval base.

"I see you didn't let a little hangover get in the way of our jog." Amos heard from his left. Turning his head, he saw Emerson walking up beside him. Most officers when they reach commanders and higher start to let themselves go a bit. Most of them were in their later years, so it was somewhat understandable, seeing as most of them had served for years in the navy.

Emerson was most certainly not one of those commanders, every morning he would get up and jog with Amos. Or was it more accurate to say that Amos joined Emerson, seeing as he had first joined Emerson on his morning jogs? Emerson was easily in is mid 50's, but he stayed in great shape. He jogged every morning at 6 when on base and frequently hit the gym with the rest of the men, he could even outlift some of the younger sailors.

"That hasn't stopped my brain being worked over by Jackhammers." Amos groaned as he and Emerson started "I can attribute being able to move to Haywood, I would've gone on had he not stopped me after the 6th glass of bourbon, and I'm not talking about shots. The glasses of water helped, but it wasn't enough to prevent it."

"Ha, you youngsters need to learn moderation, as well as how to hold your liquor better," Emerson said with a laugh. "Part of the trick of reducing hangovers is eating food with high contents of water or fats, that and eating increases the time it takes alcohol to start taking effects."

Amos snorted as the two of them passed ships docked in the harbor. "Oh yeah, do you still need help remembering which pills to take?" he shot back as the two of them passed so of the night shift who had finished their shift.

"You know full well that I don't need no pills. Not even the blue ones. Yes, sir rey, this old engine still works just fine."

Amos couldn't help but smile. Emerson would jab at his subordinates now and then, saying they needed to "learn disciple," "stop being lightweights," or the classic "back in my day." It was never serious, and they would, in turn, ask him if he needed "assistants" with various things, as though he was a retired old man.

As they finished their jog, they went their separate way to get ready for the ceremony. Taking a quick shower, Amos changed into his navy blue ceremonial uniform before heading towards the motor pool. Heading into the office, Amos was handed a set of keys for a car that he and Emerson would be taking the launch site.

"Everything in order, Commander?" Emerson called as he entered the motor pool.

"All set for the road sir."

"Alright, let's get going."

* * *

 **5/7/2020 - 9:00 Am**

 **Toyohashi,** **Japan**

As Amos and Emerson exited their vehicle, Amos heard a familiar voice called out "Lieutenant Commander Amos, Captain Emerson, it's been awhile, how have you two been?"

Amos smiled as he turned to greet an old friend. Jiro Kenshin, a 25-year-old naval academy teacher who had recently started. Amos and Jiro had meet each other during a joint exercise between the American and Japanese navy. After the exercise was over, the two had stated in contact with one another, made easy due to both of them being on the same massive naval base. The two had shared drinks and had their fair share of mishaps and stories over the years.

"Very well, thank you very much. How has life been on your end Lieutenant Kenshin? Or should I be calling you professor Kenshin now?" Amos replied with a chuckle.

"Ah, I love hearing that title, and yes, if you were one of my new students, then I would have you calling me professor. But for you Nikolas, you can stick with Jiro."

"Great, now you've all big headed about being promoted to professor. I see that you've started letting your hair grow out to try and cover that inflated head of yours." Amos said, putting a shot over the bow.

"What can I say, one of the perks of being a professor," Kenshin replied as he ran his hand through his black hair which matched his equally dark brown eyes. "What about you? You look like you're still getting over a night of binge drinking."

"It wasn't that bad, I only had …" Amos started.

"While I hate to interrupt a reunion between friends, I would like to remind you that we do have a ceremony to get too." Emerson interrupted.

"Yes, of course, captain, we can talk on the way," Kenshin said, leading the way towards the launch site.

"Changing the subject from Commander's hangover, how does it feel to be a professor at such a young age, professor Kenshin?" Emerson asked as he and Amos followed Kenshin toward the site.

"It's an odd feeling, to be frank, it feels good to have reached such a level at such a young age," Kenshin replied with a shrug. "But at the same time, one doesn't quite get the respect that one who has been in the profession for a longer period."

"There will always be those who look down on those who they think haven't earned it, and no matter what you do short of a miracle will ever get them to change their mind." Emerson disclosed with a weak smile. "The best thing you can do is ignore them and forge your path. Don't get caught up in trying to "prove yourself" to them, because one can never please people like that."

"I know that, but when you're as young as I am in a profession that normally requires many years of practical experience, people tend to doubt." Kenshin sighed "They don't do anything outright, it's more of how they talk and act around me. Talking down to me, ignoring any contribution of input in a discussion, or just not informing me of discussions being had."

"Forget them Jiro," Amos said as he put a hand on Kenshin's shoulder. "It's as Emerson said, they won't respect you until they think you've proved yourself. So do what you can to teach recruits, and eventually, they'll see that you're just as good of a teacher as them."

"Thank you, both of you, for the encouragement." Kenshin said with a smile "Now then, we still have a short while before the ceremony starts. Why don't I show you around the launch site, there isn't too much to look at, but it's still better than sitting around."

"I couldn't agree more; Professor" Emerson massaged his rear. "I'm not looking forward toward sitting for hours, so delaying that as long as possible would be appreciated."

"Well alright then, away we go." Kenshin chuckled, waving towards a string of buildings.

* * *

 **5/7/20 - 12:05 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

Mack Astor sat back in his captain's chair. It was another calm day out at sea. It was the third day of the seven-day trip between China and U.S. ports. The seas had been fair so far and looked like they were going to stay that way. Twenty-five years had Astor been doing this, and while it had its ups and downs like any other profession, overall things had worked out. His beauty, the SS Magtow, had shipped hundreds of thousands of tons over her years and was still going strong. Though with the tensions rising over China's recent actions, he was worried about how this would affect future trade as well as how he and the rest of the crew were to get by. Sure, there was always trade going on, and there would likely be jobs available, but they wouldn't be as frequent, seeing as most of the jobs that Astor and his crew got were moving goods between China and America.

"Sir, you might want to come to look at this." One of his crewmen called.

Astor frowned as he stood up from his chair to move to the window, but he didn't need to be told what had worried the crewman. Miles ahead of the ship was a massive brewing storm with swirling clouds. Any seaman worth his salt knew that those were bad signs.

"Now where did this come from, the radar and all weather reports said nothing about a storm of any kind." Astor wondered aloud.

Any person knew that storms formed when two fronts collided with one another, the warm air rising and cold air sinking. The problem was that neither any weather reports or the weather radar on the ship had said or shown any such fronts that would cause a storm of any sort, let alone one this size. The outer edge of the storm seemed to cover the whole horizon. Lighting could be seen from inside the storm, flashing constantly.

"A freak storm sir?" asked the crewman.

"Storm nothing, that thing looks like a bloody typhoon." Commented another

"Either way, we'll need to change course." Astor said "Radio someone about this, judging from the size, this storm will no doubt make landfall. People need to be informed of this."

"On it sir."

Astor made his way back towards his chair, this was annoying but thankfully posed no danger as of yet. This would no doubt add time to his tight time frame, but one more day to avoid a storm that size would be exceptable.

"Sir I seem to be having trouble getting a hold of anyone." His radioman called.

"What? There shouldn't be any problems; we just had a check on all systems before we left." Astor growled.

"I don't understand either sir, but all I'm getting is static."

"Fine, we'll go around and try to raise someone once we get closer to shore." Astro rubbed his head; today was supposed to be a dull day of sailing. Now there was a potential typhoon, radio errors, and a headache to round it all off.

"Huh, sir, I see some weird things out there."

Oh, what now! Astor thought as he headed back over the crewman by the window. He had set of binoculars and was looking out towards the storm. As Astor reached him, the man handed him the binoculars and he looked towards the storm. At first, all Astor saw was the massive storm ahead of them, darkening the sky across the horizon. Then he saw what the crewman thought was weird, small figures seemed to be coming out of under the storm clouds, heading towards the ship.

Astor could barely make what out they were, seeing as they were still several miles off. The issue of not being able to make the shapes out simply brought up a different problem. They were too far out to truly tell what they were, but the silhouettes were too small to be ships. They couldn't be small boats or personal watercraft because they were in the middle of the freaking Pacific Ocean. Nor could they be whales. Whales didn't stay on the surface to make a formation that produced visible wakes that could be seen this far off. Nor did whales come out from typhoons.

"What do you make of it sir?" the seaman asked

"I honestly don't know what. For now, all we can do is make our way around the storm and try to make it to port on time." Astor said handing the binoculars back "Though, do keep an eye on those things, I've never seen anything like those."

"Aye skipper."

Astor frowned as he moved back to his chair. A freak typhoon forming out of nowhere, delays on the schedule, and how weird shapes coming out of said typhoon. _What next! Are stars about to fall out of the sky_? His thought process was interrupted however when a massive explosion erupted behind him which rocked the ship, throwing him and many of the other sailors who were standing to the floor.

"What in the hell just happened!" Astor yelled as he picked himself back off the floor.

"Incoming fire from those figures sir! The Mother Fuckers just fired upon us!" came a cry.

"Who the fuck fires upon a cargo ship. And what the hell do you mean those silhouettes fired upon us? Those things couldn't be bigger than sedans."

"I don't know sir." Came the reply as another explosion rocked the ship, throwing shipping containers off the side of the ship. "I was watching them as you said to, and suddenly there was a flash. I was about to tell you when the explosion hit."

"God damn it, someone get on the radio, try and get ahold of someone, anyone!" Astor shouted as more explosions started to erupt across the ship. He could see shipping containers that were stacked on the ship being blown off the sides by the explosions. A detonation caused a shard of metal from a container to skip of the top of the bridge, he could see the dent form and glass crack as it struck.

This didn't make any sense Astor thought, who in the hell would attack a cargo ship of all things. Pirates sure, but those people were in poor countries in Africa near the coasts, not in the middle of the freaking Pacific Ocean. Not to mention those pirates were equipped with AK's and RPG's, not cannons that would blow shipping contains off of a ship. Modern pirates would have taken the crew and cargo unharmed, so they could ransom them for millions. Blowing the ship up made no sense.

"What the hell are those things?" one of the sailors screeched.

Moving back towards the window, Astor took the binoculars that were handed to him once again. Looking through them, he could see what the silhouettes finally looked like, and made him wish he had not done such a terrible mistake. They looked not of this earth. The figures looked like medium sedan sized metal tubes, with a mouth filled with teeth and a tube, he assumed that was the barrel of the cannon. Which was confirmed when a blast erupted from one of the mouths. They were jet black, with eerily glowing green eyes that looked of ghostly flame. Merely looking gave Astor a feeling of dread, like one seeing a terrible event that one can see but not stop.

"Sir, some of those shots have priced the hull, the ships taking on water!" came a radio call from the lower decks shaking Astor from his observations.

"Captain, I still can't raise anyone on the radio." Call a call from his radio man who was frantically attempting to raise anyone across all radio frequencies.

Astor's mind was racing as more explosions hit the ship. He had many, many questions. Like what in Neptune's ball sack were those things, where did they come from, why in the hell were they attacking a cargo ship, and why did they look like something out of a bad sci-fi original. You know, the important questions. But the biggest question on Astor's mind was, would they let them leave peacefully after they abandoned the ship? The problem was, there was no way to tell, but they didn't have any options. They were in the middle of the ocean, under attack by strange, things, and no way of knowing what would happen if they abandoned ship.

In the end, Astor knew he had no choice, the ship had taken far too much damage, and there was no saving the old gale. Walking over to the ship's main radio Astor took the mike "All hands, abandon ship, I repeat, all hand abandon ship."

It didn't take much to get most of the men on the deckhouse to get moving, Astor could hardly blame them. None of them had ever been prepared for being attacked, why would they, they were a cargo ship crewmen, who would attack a cargo ship in peacetime. What few sailors who remained on the deckhouse looked a mixture of confused, stressed, and worried. Astor could understand why and hardly blamed them. Even if they abandoned the ship, there was no guarantee that the beings attacking the ship would even let them leave peacefully, seeing how they had open fired on their ship without provocation. But they didn't have much a choice, it was either sit on the ship until she sank, or make for the lifeboats and see what happened. Either way, neither option was very appealing.

From the deckhouse, Astor could see one of the free fall lifeboats being filled with sailors trying to get off. He hoped that some of the men could get off and be left alone, those hopes didn't last long. One of the creatures seemed to notice the men getting on the boat and turned its barrels towards the men. Astor could only watch in horror as it fired and the lifeboat, metal, and men went up in flames. It was the last nail in the coffin. There were to be no survivors, these beings had no interest in peace or surrender, they would all die this day.

Astor turned to what remaining crewmen on the deckhouse, "Well gentlemen, it seems our hour is here. For whatever happens after this, I want you all to know, you were all a pain in my ass …. and it was an honor serving with you all."

That got a grim smile out of them, a little light before the darkness. They all knew what was coming, and there was a damn thing they could do about it. "It was also an honor sir, though to be fair, you were a jackass." Came a reply from his first mate.

Astor looked back out of the deckhouse window, watching as his ship slowly started to sink. Movement caught his eye, turning his head, he saw one of the tube monsters turn its head towards the deckhouse. ' _Well_ ', Astor thought ' _looks like this is where it ends'_. Before a flash from the gun came from the figure. The last thing Astor felt before nothingness was the heat from the blast.

* * *

 **5/7/20 - 12:10 PM**

 **Yokosuka, Japan**

Haywood looked over the recent reports that had come in throughout the day. Nothing to raise the alarm about yet, chatter between Chinese officials and news outlets. He had been going over all chatter for hours now, seeing if there were any potential issues that might arise from this.

So far, nothing much had come up that they could confirm. Their informants within the Communist party were, limited, at best due to the strictness of the party and how purge happy they were. The hacking of the party's database and the military wasn't going anywhere anytime soon either. Considering how much hacking that the communist party did to other government and companies to get at their information, it wasn't a surprise that they had good security.

So far, most stories coming out of China were about the launching of the Kūchū bōei and how it was a threat to peace in the region and how Japan is on a warpath by the Chinese. No doubt trying to stir up old memories of Japan's actions during the second world war. It wouldn't be too hard, considering the horrific actions the Japanese army had done during the invasion of China. Events like the Sook Ching Massacre or the infamous Rape of Nanking tended to cause lasting resentment.

A knock at his office door took him out of his thoughts. "Enter" he called, sifting through more reports.

"Two reports sir. We managed to break some of the Chinese codes and read some of their reports, along with an important weather report sir." Said the man as he saluted Haywood.

"I see, start with the Chinese report. And may I ask why I need to be informed about a weather report?" Haywood asked with an expression not giving away his slight confusion.

"China has ordered the movement of several CSS-5 ASBM rockets divisions as well as the activation of several of its standby divisions. Their navy has been ordered to maintain strike capability from now until further orders."

Haywood forced his expression to stay still to prevent it from to turn grim; this was not what he had been hoping for. Feeling an oncoming headache, he forced his hand down to stop himself from rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And the weather report?"

"A freak typhoon has appeared over the Pacific sir. Satellites picked up images of its formation, and it isn't normal sir. It's covering almost 1400 miles and growing" He handed Haywood a stack of pictures.

Taking the pictures, Haywood looked them over, and the man wasn't wrong. On average, it normally takes between 3-7 days for a storm to form. Caused by massive tropical thunderstorms that pull up air which cools and falls, causing it to keep growing. This one had form in but a matter of hours, with no prior signs of one. This only further complicated matter, with a typhoon in the way between the U.S and Asia, and the sheer size of it only compounded the issue. Any need for supplies would have to take a long detour route around the edge of the Pacific to avoid the storm. And reinforcements in the event that world war 3 kicked offed, which in was inevitable in his opinion, was be delayed until the stormed cleared or would take longer to arrive.

Then there would be the issue of the damage such a massive storm would bring. Ports along the coast would be devastated, along with cities and towns. Even when the supplies got here, there might not be any place left for them to off load their cargo.

Then there was the problem with its sheer size. It was almost twice the size of a super typhoon, whose diameters could reach 1300 miles across. This storm was the largest ever on record, and it was still growing at an alarming rate.

"I see your point, thank you for bringing this to my attention." He said standing up, as he headed for the door.

"What now sir?" the man asked, shifting on his feet. Haywood could tell he was nervous, and he couldn't blame him, this wasn't exactly a normal circumstance.

"Head back to your post; I need to go report this to the vice-admiral." The two of them exited his office, Haywood heading towards the vice-admiral.

After the brief walk to the office, he came to the Vice-Admiral's office and knocked on the door. He entered after permission was granted and gave the vice-admiral a salute. "Ah, Director Haywood, to what do I owe this visit?" Dwight Weston asked. The vice-admiral of the U.S. 7th fleet, 36 years of service to the navy and was promoted to the position 4 years ago after the last one retired. While Weston's question sounded like it was a friendly visit between co-workers, Haywood could sense the tension underlying the question and in Weston's body language. Weston was worried that he was there to say the Chinese were reading for war.

"Two reports just hit my desk not 5 minutes ago Admiral, and neither are pretty. China has started moving its missile divisions as well as activating ones on standby. They have also put their navy on strike ready at all times. Second, the largest Typhoon on record just formed over the Pacific Ocean."

Weston's face went from hopeful, to grim. "We expected as much; we were hoping it wouldn't be happening so soon. And by largest Typhoon, how large are we talking?" His voice had almost a pleading tone, hoping against hope that it wasn't as bad as it sounded.

"According to satellite data and photo, its 1400 miles across and growing at a rapid rate. Its potential size is currently unknown"

"What? But no weather reports ever showed signs of one even being possible." Weston said as he ran a hand through his hair. "A storm that size could destroy entire cities and ports."

"That's not the problem sir," Haywood said as he handed Weston the photos. "The storm has already formed."

"That shouldn't be possible, disregarding that one showed up with no warning, it most definitely should not have formed within hours."

"Unfortunately, we have no idea on how this could have happened. This still leaves us with the problems of a rapidly destabilizing situation in Asia, China mobilizing its forces, and an incoming Typhoon that is likely to cause millions, if not billions in damages."

"You always say the most encouraging things director Haywood." Weston said as he tossed the pictures down onto his desk. "So, we have a mega-storm on the way and a potential war brewing." Leaning back in his swivel chair, Weston thought about what courses of action he could take in the current situation. "Director Haywood, could you gather all available intelligence we have that can be related to relevant events and put it together into a presentation?"

"Yes, I could. What style or manner do you want it?"

"Nothing fancy, I'm calling a meeting for all senior officers to get some input on the current situation. Get anything you think is relevant or could be possibly related to the Chinese movements."

"Understood, though it will take some time to compile all the requested information."

"It doesn't need to be done immediately, we still have a bit of time before Rear Admiral Chester and Captain Emerson return from the ceremony."

* * *

 **5/7/20 - 1:00 Pm**

 **Toyohashi, Launch Site, Japan**

"Well, that was far longer than I thought it was going to be. I thought I would lose feeling in my ass before half way through." Emerson said as he rubbed his legs to get the feeling back into them.

Amos had to admit, the ceremony was as bad as he feared it was going be. The speeches were overly long and filled with all the flowery language that came with a historical launch like these. Which wasn't surprising to Amos, considering what a huge moment it was for the Japanese Self Defense Force. Not since the second world war had Japan been allowed to build aircraft carriers. So, it wasn't a surprising that the ceremony was blown up to a massive proportion.

There was plenty of media coverage, with news reporters and cameras all over, with almost twenty minutes spent having admirals and politicians standing in front of the boat, shaking hands, and other such things. The ceremony for the launching of the Kūchū bōei was anything but brief. The Prime minister's speech was patriotic, but there was an undertone of tenseness.

Much of the Japanese public might not have liked the increase in military spending, but prime minister Hakuryū Ieyasu was just one of those speakers that made everyone stop and listen. He was a big supporter of the Japanese rearmament and the figurehead of the movement which was gaining support. The recent issues with North Korea and now China giving perfect cover for rearmament.

After the Prime Minister, the admiral of the Japanese Self Defense Force Navy Yasu Hiroki gave a similar speech to the prime minister, just with more emphasis on how this would help Japan defend itself in the future.

The speech by Rear Admiral Eldon Chester was mostly a congratulation on the completion of the carrier and how much the U.S. looked forward to continuing its cooperation with Japan in the future.

Once the main part was over, the press got to ask all one million, and one questions they had relating to economics, military, political, and social that could be connected to the ship. That session took almost an hour to get through. After that, they hit the carrier with the champagne and into the water it went.

"I while I will happily admit that I'm also glad that I can still feel my legs, I can't help but that this will only make the whole situation worse by adding more fuel to the fire." Amos replied."

"Agreed, China will most certainly form their own opinion about the situation, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it." Emerson sighed. "All we can do is keep doing our jobs, and hope that the idiots back in Washington can keep things from blowing up."

"Sir, you know full well that politicians don't give a dam. As long as they get funding from corporations, then they'll do whatever they say." Amos snarked "I'd be surprised if they could pass any bills, let alone figure out a way to not start world war three."

"Okay, yes, Congress would rather bury their heads in the sand and ignore reality, but there are times where they pull their heads out from the sand and see reality." Retorted Emerson "As long as the threat of economic destruction looms, they should be able to avoid too many stupid moves."

"I just hope you're right; any war would likely end up destroying all countries involved," Amos said with a sigh as the two of them drove back to Yokosuka naval base.

"Well at least today wasn't too bad, you got to see your old friend, I got to talk to some old friends, and we didn't get blown up by the Chinese. All in all, I say it's been a good day so far."

Amos couldn't help but smile at that. Catching up with Jiro had been fun, and the walk around the base before the ceremony was short, but enjoyable. They had headed to their seats 10 minutes before the start of the ceremony, allowing Emerson to have a short chat with some of his fellow captains. The three of them then sat down for the two-and-a-half-hour ceremony, after which they had said their goodbyes. Amos had managed to get Jiro to go out drinking with him a week from today, assuming the world didn't start exploding.

' _Maybe Emerson is wrong, maybe for once, humanity will not destroy itself. Maybe there is still hope for us yet_ _.'_ Shaking his head, Amos turned his eyes back on the road as they drove back towards base.

* * *

 **5/7/20 - 2:30 PM**

 **Yokosuka, Japan**

Amos nudged Emerson awake from his nap as they approached to the outskirts of the naval base. Pulling up to the gate, Amos pulled out his I.D. and grabbed Emerson's before handing them to the guard.

"Ah, Captain Emerson, you are to report to headquarters, Vice Admiral Weston has called a meeting of all senior Officers." The guard said glancing up from the I.D.s

"Oh great, world war 3 started while we were driving didn't it." Emerson groaned as he put his head in his hands. It had been less than three hours since the launch, surly China wasn't itching for a war that badly.

"I don't think so, but whatever happened, it's important enough for him to call the meeting sir."

While his wording didn't give anything away, Amos could see him shifting his weight from foot to foot. Be it because of nervousness, or from just standing at the gate for so long.

"All right Amos, please drop me off outside headquarters then procced to drop the car off at the motor pool." Emerson gave a tired wave, looking resigned to what was to come.

"Yes, sir."

"Let's just hope that the Chinese aren't mobilizing or preparing something to spark a war."

 **Fin**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **Darkening Horizon**

 **5/7/2020 - 2:30 PM**

 **Tokyo, Japan**

/ _Breaking weather report. A massive Typhoon has appeared in the Pacific Ocean. Citizens who live along the coast of Japan are recommended to evacuate inland. The appearance of this Typhoon has surprised many meteorologists. While most storm can be predicted or foreseen due to weather patterns, this storm appeared in only a matter of hours. Many people worry about the extent of …_

* * *

 **5/7/2020 - 2:35 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Emerson let his mind wander as he made his way to the meeting room as to the cause of the impromptu meeting. It wasn't because a war broke out, the base was too calm for it and the guard had said that it wasn't war. A prewar meeting, perhaps? A definite possibility, given the situation. But again, things had yet to devolve into such a point as to need one just yet. A general meeting wouldn't have been called on such short notice, so that option was out.

He couldn't come up with a solid reason by the time he had made it to the meeting room, taking his seat at the long oval table. Most of the other senior officers had already taken their places around the table as well and were having a quiet discussion, some about why the meeting was called, others on how each other's day was going. A few gave greetings as he entered.

So, given that the atmosphere wasn't tense, it gave Emerson the impression that it might not be too serious. That or no one knew why and the eased atmosphere wouldn't last.

"I'm glad to see that you are still able to move after for so long Captain Emerson." A voice called from behind

Turning, Emerson saw the youngest of the senior officers in the 7th fleet, Lieutenant Commander Nate Barrett. The man was in his late twenties and stood roughly 6'0 with light brown hair with green eyes. Barrett was clean shaven, with the kind of face that said: "I am an officer, and you'd best show me respect." His brown officer's uniform was crisp and well maintained, a spitting image of what an officer would look like.

"Ah, Commander Barrett. How are things on the O'Hare?" Emerson asked, turning to face the young captain.

"Everything is running smoothly; the ship is clean, loaded, and fueled. All she and the crew are waiting for is an order, sir." Barrett replied, standing straight in a relaxed readied stance.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Barrett, just call me Emerson like everyone else," Emerson said with a frown.

"While others might do so sir, I choose to respect you with your proper designation."

Emerson bit back a groan. No matter how many times he asked Barrett to call him Emerson, Barrett would merely say that he was 'respecting' Emerson's designation as captain due to his seniority. Barrett was a fine ship Captain, but he was a stickler for rules, and that went for anyone in his immediate area. If others were to address an officer by name, even while both were off duty, then Barrett would call out the sailor and try and make the sailor address his superior in a more 'proper' fashion. This, understandably, tended to annoy people.

Before Emerson had a chance to retort, Vice-Admiral Weston walked in with Rear Admiral Chester along with Director Haywood. All conversations in the meeting room ceased as they turned their focus to Weston and Haywood.

"I thank you all for coming on such short notice, but I believe that this meeting was needed due to new information coming to light," Weston said as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"Director Haywood had compiled information about the new events. Director, take it away."

Haywood stood to the right of the screen displaying the information on a PowerPoint. "At 1200, our intelligent team made a breakthrough on cracking Chinese firewalls and cybersecurity. We were able to find out that the Chinese have started moving several of their CSS-5 ASBM ICBMs mobile missile divisions, as well as activating several other divisions that were originally on inactive. At the current time, we do not know where the divisions are moving to, but we've estimated that they will be moving to either the Henan, Hubei or the Anhui provinces."

Emerson grimaced at the information. This was not pleasant news. A glance around at the other senior officers supplied him with the knowledge that the other officers were having similar reactions. They had known that the launch of the Hakuryū Ieyasu would set the Chinese on high alert, or at the very least spook them. Just not to the point of activating more missile divisions.

Flicking to another slide, Haywood continued "We also managed to obtain the knowledge that their naval forces are to be strike capable at any time. We've already seen an increase in Chinese naval activity in recent years, and already in the last 2 hours since we broke the codes, communications between naval commanders has doubled."

' _Great,_ thought Emerson. _Even fuel to the fire. All we need now is a Typhoon to round out this sunny parade, and we'll be golden.'_

"Lastly, at 1205, our satellites picked up these images over the Pacific." Haywood pulled up a new slide, showing a video of the Pacific. It showed a lapse of time of roughly 2 hours. Huge amounts of clouds gravitating or forming in the middle of the Pacific. As the timer ticked, a storm formed and continued to grow.

' _I was freaking kidding when I mentioned the Typhoon!'_ Emerson mentally shouted, and his right eye started twitching as the video showed the typhoon growing at an alarming rate. If the information on Chinese activities was a bowl of ice cream, then the storm was merely the cherry on top.

"As of now, the typhoon has reached over 2000 miles across in diameter and is expected only to grow as it moves towards Japan. We've informed local stations, as well as Japan's meteorological agency about what we discovered and they, 're currently drawing up plans for where and what needs to be evacuated."

"Thank you, Director Haywood," Weston said, calling attention back to himself. "As you can see gentlemen. The situation has changed quite drastically from what it was this morning. I called this meeting to both inform you as well as get a census of opinion on how you all feel about the situation and what any of you might think of doing."

"Do we have any projections as to where and when the storm will make landfall?" Chester asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Not at the moment, it's still too early to say where, we should know in a day, two at the most," Haywood replied taking a seat at the table. "But given the size of the storm, the entirety of Japan will be the site of landfall.

"We're going to have to move all of our ships out of port if we don't want to risk them getting damaged. This will make this quite awkward until the storm passes."

"Do we have any movements of Chinese naval forces?" Another captain asked.

"We know of at least the aircraft carrier Liaoning and four guided missile escort ships moving up from Shanwei naval base to the port of Nantong."

"Any news on the artificial islands in the south china sea?" Another officer asked.

"China has completed four as of current time. We've successfully blocked them from creating a fifth, but it's only a matter of time before they try to build another."

"What level are our supplies at, in the event of an immediate war?"

"You would have to ask Chief Quartermaster Cavin for the details of a time scale. Another shipment of supplies is arriving in two days."

"Do we have any ships out to sea at the current time?" Emerson asked

"Three ships currently are out doing regular patrols," Weston replied

"The way I see it, it's currently best if we do nothing, aside from getting out ships out of port." Emerson asserted, gaining a few looks. "There isn't really much we can do really. The news about the missile divisions is going to get out in at least a day or two, and it's not like we can doing anything about the Chinese moving their ships about. We're already going to be at a disadvantage due to the typhoon forcing us out of our ports."

"In my opinion, captain Emerson is making to correct call." Haywood ice blue eyes swept the officers "While we do have new information, there is only so much we can do with it at the current time. We also mustn't tip off the Chinese that we broke their codes, and the best way to do that is to act as we have been. Let us sit on this for now, and my division and I will see what else we can gain from our new access into the Chinese military. Get the ship out before they get caught in that typhoon, and the base will prepare itself to ride the storm out."

The other officers in the room nodded their heads in agreement. A few a slightly displeased look, but did not voice any opposition.

"Alright, unless anyone else has anything to add. I say we end this meeting and hope nothing new will pop up in the next few hours." Weston said as he stood from his chair, earning a few chuckles.

' _Oh boy, is this going to be a fun few days'_. Emerson thought to himself as he made his way out of the meeting.

* * *

 **5/7/2020 - 5:30 PM**

 **San Francisco, United States**

"Some breaking news tonight folks. Over one hundred of cargo ships carrying hundreds of thousands of pounds of cargo have failed to arrive at their allotted times. Port authorities have not been able to contact any of the missing ships. The Typhoon formed in such a short period of time that the ships simply didn't have enough time to get out of its way. Many of the owner companies for other cargos in the Pacific Ocean have been struggling to get a hold of their own ships over the past few days."

"Moving on now to Hawaii, the fiftieth state is also feeling the effects of the storm, even though the state is at the outer edges of the storm. Mass reports of flooding have been coming in, as well as property damage reports. Thankfully there have yet to be any casualties."

"What has further puzzled meteorologists, beyond its sudden and unnatural appearance, has been that the storm has yet to move beyond where it originally formed. Normally when typhoons form, the storms move in the direction of its rotation. Normally hitting island nations in the Pacific before sweeping up towards mainland Asia. No one so far has been able to explain why to storm has yet to move, though many are just thankful that it hasn't. The current estimation for damages that the storm could potentially cause well and truly reaches into the hundreds of billions. The most conservative estimates put it over at least 400 billion U.S dollars."

"Turning now from a freak meteorological disaster, to a man-made one, the U.S presidential elections. Both candidates have been hitting swing states across the country, one favoring the countryside while the other makes stops in the big cities. Polls in Iowa, Florida, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania are all showing a close race between the two candidates. The polls have Marable Dingbat of the Burgernalis party up two points on John Wasik of the Tacoismist party. ….

* * *

 **5/8/2020 - 9:30 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Amos was tired, and the stress of recent events was starting to take its toll. After he dropped of Emerson for the emergency meeting, he had taken the car back to the motor pool. Once that was done, he had gone to the office to see if any new reports had dropped onto his desk. Seeing some had indeed come in, he had switched on the radio so he had some background music. He had barely gotten through two pages when the radio host mentioned something about 'biggest typhoon in history'. Pulling his phone out, he looked up some weather reports, and low and behold, a massive frack off storm had formed and was going to be headed for Japan.

Unsure of what exactly to do with this startling new information, he continued his way through the reports, hoping that Emerson might have some idea. It took roughly another half hour before Emerson returned to the office, where he promptly informed Amos of the Chinese activity. He had asked Emerson if he should recall from shore leave, but Emerson said to let everyone have a least one day off.

"There won't be much down time in the coming days, let the men have at least this night off." Emerson had said.

Amos hadn't gotten much sleep that night, too many things running through his head. There was no early morning jog the next day, too many things to do before the typhoon hit. They woke the men promptly at 6:00 AM, earning much groaning for the wakeup call.

"Sorry to disrupt your beauty sleep, but we don't have time to sleep. As I'm sure you've all at least heard by now, the largest typhoon in history is making its way towards Japan. We need to get the ships out of port before that storm hits, or half the fleet will be needing a dry dock after they get pulled from the bottom of the harbor."

With the men thoroughly roused from their sleep, they set to quickly packing the ships to be ready to sail. It was about 10:00 AM when they heard that the typhoon had yet even to move. This information has everyone puzzled. No typhoon, cyclone, or hurricane just sat where it formed. This only compounded the confusion that already existed about the storm.

It was out of season for starters, though that could be waved off as a freak occurrence, it had happened before. The first thing that could not be waved off was the time scale of its appearance; most storms took a few days to form, while this had appeared in but a few hours. It had no sign of being formed, while most storms could be seen coming days, if not weeks ahead of time.

This latest piece of information had probably caused several meteorologists to tear their hair out. Storms don't behave in such fashion, and yet here it was, spitting in the face of all known facts about nature. Regardless, Emerson wanted the Perry to be ready to leave at a moment's notice for when the storm decided that it wanted to start playing by the rules of reality and nature finally.

After that, it was nothing but sitting and waiting. The base was still preparing for the typhoon, and Japan's self-defense force was already helping people evacuate Yokosuka. So that hadn't left much else to do. Waiting is always stressful, especially when one couldn't relax during the wait, and Amos could see it was also starting to get to the men. They shifted constantly, always walking or just moving, never sitting still. He could hardly blame them, two days of just sitting on the base, with nothing to do. They couldn't go into town, they needed to be ready to leave at a moment's notice if the storm moved, and they couldn't do much beyond daily routines.

He had tried listening to the radio, only to learn of the missing cargo ships, carrying hundreds of thousands of tons had gone missing as a result of the storm. He quickly switched that off. He knew that ships were going to be lost as a result of the storm, but he didn't want to deal with it now. The typhoon was eventually going to move, and when it did, the death toll was going to be staggering. Shuddering, Amos went back to going through the paperwork on his desk, hoping that nothing else was going to wrong until the typhoon passed.

/-/

 **5/8/2020 - 10:00 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Office of Intelligence, Japan**

Haywood hadn't slept in almost two days, he simply refused to. There was simply too much to do, and he would make sure that he got every bit of intel he could on anything and everything. With the cracking of Chinese codes, they had finally been able to get into the Chinese action plans. Unfortunately, those were still being processed, the sheer amount to go through was slowing the process down.

Then there was the issue with the typhoon, Haywood had ordered that he wanted constant updates on the storm, if that storm so much as moved an inch, he wanted to hear about it. He requested reports from civilian weather teams that had flown near the storm, but those were coming back empty. For some reason that he didn't fully understand, any sensor device that was used near the storm refused to work during its duration near it. The device would work correctly before entering about three hundred and fifty nautical miles from the storm.

And then there was the issue of the missing cargo ships. Normally such a thing didn't fall under military jurisdiction, normally falling to civilians and port authorities to find out what happened. But with over one hundred ships now missing, and port authorities in both China and the U.S have lost contact with another twenty, the people were beginning to panic. The storm had caught hundreds of ships in during its formation. Many were thankful that it had not taken more.

Many companies were taking massive hits to their stock prices as the news about which ships went down. People didn't like it when companies lost millions, even if it is due to unforeseen circumstances.

Even as Haywood shifted through reports, the list of ships that have failed to report in slowly grew. He was no economist, but he knew that the stock market was starting bleeding. With millions of dollars' worth of goods going missing, companies weren't getting their return of investment that they had spent to purchase the goods. Loss of investments meant lost money, loss of money meant that the company was worth less. And the loss in value would scare people into selling their stocks to try and get some money before the value of stock devalued further.

It wasn't going to spiraling out of control, the typhoon would pass, and things would stabilize eventually. But as things stood right now, companies feared to buy goods until the typhoon passed, which hurt both the shipping companies, who were already hurting from the missing ships, as well as the production companies in the Asian countries. Sure, the production companies weren't losing all of their business, but a sizable chunk had stopped ordering. This forced local sellers to raise prices to offset the higher costs of initially purchasing the goods. This, in turn, lead shoppers to buy less because of a rise in price. Things would go back to normal after the typhoon passed.

A knock on his door took him out of his thoughts. "Enter" he called, putting down his reports. Griff Vance entered the room. Vance was Haywood's second in command, and managed most of the daily information that came in. Vance stopped and sniffed the room upon entering.

"Sir, when was the last time you took a shower? Or sleep for that matter?" Vance gave Haywood a hard look.

"Three days ago, and before you say anything, yes it's fine. Humans can go for eleven days without sleep. Now, what do you have to report." Haywood said, ignoring the look he was receiving from Vance.

That was another thing that Vance did. He had taken it almost as a part-time job, that being keeping Haywood from killing himself via overworking. Vance refused to let him work for more than three days at a time for some reason. He could understand why Vance was so adamant about keeping him from working longer, but really, he could handle such a short time a wake; he had done longer.

"We got a report in that at least another three ships have gone missing. The ships failed to arrive at their ports, and all attempts to make contact have met with failure." Vance said with the shake of his head at Haywood's stubbornness about basic hygiene and sleep patterns.

"I know we keep losing more and more ships, but why come here to tell me what I already know?" Haywood replied, his voice or face portraying his confusion.

"It's not the fact that we lost ships, it's, where, we lost the ships." Vance made his way over to a map of the Pacific that Haywood keep up on a wall in his office. "This is the trade lane that the ships were traveling before they failed to arrive in port." Vance pointed to part of the Pacific at was almost seven hundred nautical miles outside of the typhoon.

With long practiced ease, Haywood keep his features from changing, but his mind shot into overdrive. What could be the cause of the newly missing ships. One couldn't say that the typhoon did it, they were too far away. There was almost no way of it being any nation in Oceania, the most of the countries didn't even have a navy. It was too far away, nor would they risk the wrath of the international condemnation that would come with such a barbaric act. That was excluding the fact that it would be all over the news with the sailors using their radios to call in what was happening.

' _This is troubling, who could be sinking ships'_? Haywood thought as he picked up his office phone.

"Vice Admiral Weston speaking." Weston's voiced sounded as though he was hoping for some good news.

"Admiral, we have a situation."

"Please tell me China is **NOT** planning to invade South Korea or Japan." Weston groaned, Haywood could almost see the man putting his head in his hands.

"As of yet no, but we have a different problem. Three ships have gone missing on trade lanes that are seven hundred miles from the typhoon. They failed to arrive in their ports, and all attempts to make contact have failed."

"So, now we have even more ships disappearing in trade lanes outside of the histories largest typhoon, which has already sunk over one hundred ships, in combination with a brewing war of the South China Sea. How can this …, I'm not going to continue that sentence, because I know how it ends." Weston sighed. "Alright, I'll dispatch the 1st destroyer squadron to go have a look. Until then, keep digging up anything you can on Chinese activities. And if you get the chance, is if you can find anything that could have caused those ships to go missing."

"Understood Admiral. Haywood out." Hanging up the phone, Haywood turned back to Vance "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. See if you can find any potential causes for the new missing ships. Until then, dismissed."

"Oh no you don't Jaxson," Vance growled as he made his way around the desk "You've not slept or showered in two days. I don't care if you 'think' that your okay, or even medically okay. As your second in command and as a friend, I refuse to let you work any longer." His tone stated that he would accept not an argument as he stood over Haywood.

Giving Vance a bland look, Haywood replied: "You're not going to leave until I out of the office are you." While his tone and body language gave nothing away, Vance had known Haywood for long enough to tell he was annoyed by his insistence that he take a shower and get some sleep.

"You know I will, and you know that we can run the office without you to monitor everything that comes in. You should know this by now." Vance said quietly as he took a seat on the edge of Haywood's desk.

"I know, Vance, everyone in the department works night and day to find everything that they can." He said, folding his hands together in front of him. "But I can't let any information of poor-quality get through that could get people hurt." ' _Not again, Never, again,'_ "We hold the lives of all of the sailors in the fleet, we cannot let anything by that might get them killed."

"Look, I'll make you a deal. You take a show and get some sleep, and I'll wake you up if we find anything of note. Sound good?" Vance knew this was about the only way to get him to stop working short of his body shutting down to force him to get sleep.

Haywood sighed as he rose from his chair "You would hound me till the heat death of the universe if I did not agree to your terms."

"And if I didn't hound you till that time, you would've worked yourself to death at least four times over by now. Go get some rest sir, and leave the rest to us."

"Very well, you know where to find me if anything comes up." Haywood said as he made his way out of the office.

/-/

 **5/8/2020 - 10:12 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Emerson was sitting at his desk in his office with Amos, going over reports and paperwork. The last few days had been stressful, a lot of running around, followed by nothing but sitting. He didn't like it, it just wasn't what he liked to do. While Emerson was happy to sit in his room and read, that was when there wasn't a typhoon capable of wiped half of Japan's sea board off the map sitting out in the ocean. So, when his office phone rang with the caller i.d. being that of the Admiral, he almost leaped for the receiver.

"Captain Emerson, speaking" While he tried to keep his tone level, he knew that he sounded a bit desperate for something, anything to happen.

"Jeez, has sitting around really been that boring Emerson? If I had known it was so, I would have sent you to go check out the typhoon." Came the voice from the phone "You and your men have sat around long enough, and something's come up that needs investigation."

"Oh, and what would that be sir," Emerson asked, coming back to a professional tone. There was time for fun and jokes latter, Emerson knew that Weston wasn't the kind of admiral that called you for just a personal chat while on duty.

"ONI learned that three ships have failed to come into port and no contact can be made with the ships. The ships were lost several hundred miles from the typhoon."

Emerson's face became a stone mask. This wasn't quite what he had been hoping for. ' _I guess this is what I get for wishing something to happen.'_ "Do we have any information on this?"

"No, and you know that Director Haywood wouldn't withhold anything that could relate to this situation. Captain Emerson, I want you and the 1st destroyer squadron to head out and see if you can find the missing ships. If failing that, found out who is attacking civilian ships."

"Rules of engagement if we do find the people responsible for this sir?"

"Find out who is responsible for this and get evidence, this is your top priority. I want it so I can use it to hang who's responsible for this with it." Weston growled over the phone "Call for surrender once, if they fail to respond, sink the bastards to Jones's locker."

"Understood sir," Emerson said with a grim smile "I'll ready the men." Ending the call, Emerson stood and reached for his cap. "Lt. Amos, call up the 1st squadron, tell them we have new orders."

"Understood sir," Amos replied, reaching for his desk phone "What are our orders?"

"We're to investigate ships going missing in trade lanes outside of the typhoon. Currently, three ships have gone missing, and no one can contact them."

Amos's face slowly shifted to one of disgust. "Some prairie maggots are attacking civilian ships, in the middle of ' **This**.'" He snarled, referring to recent and ongoing events.

"It seems so, so let us not delay, the more time we spend here, the more time those bastards have to hit more ships."

/-/

 **5/8/2020 - 4:27 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Supply Offices, Japan**

Cavan was beginning to get annoyed, he didn't like it when his supply depot got disorganized. It had been three days since he learned of a massive typhoon heading for the base, which meant that he and the of the dock workers had to work over time. They had to secure everything down so nothing blew away, they had to make sure that everything was sealed so no water would leak in and damage anything.

The combination of that as well as trying to keep track of ever-shifting levels of supplies was draining. High command had decided to move almost every ship out of port for the coming storm, though at this point, whether the storm was coming or not was up in the air. But in preparation for every ship moving out of port, they needed to be loaded with food, munitions, fuel, and spare parts if something broke. Every ship needed different amounts, so it wasn't like he could just sign off on copies of the same forms. First, one needed to know how much stuff need to be moved, then one needed to gather it and move it to the docks to be loaded. Then finally, one, or more specifically, Cavan, needed to log all equipment, supplies, munitions, and fuel that left his care. This process took days, and while he only had to worry about the depot, eighty ships required a lot of supplies.

He had managed to work his way through half of the neatly stacked pile of forms that were on his desk. Unfortunately, the other half was still creating a six-inch plateau off the surface of his workspace. He merely sighed as he reached for another form, knowing it was either do it now or do it later. The phone rang as he filled the request out.

Picking up the phone as he continued to write, he answered "Master Chief Cavan speaking.", his voice droned into the receiver.

"Quartermaster, I see that I'm not the only one swamped in paperwork." Chuckled the Vice-Admiral.

"S-sorry admiral, I didn't realize that I was speaking to you," Cavan replied, immediately straightening up and putting his full attention on the conversation.

"It's quite alright Officer Cavan, but I haven't called simply to catch you flat-footed. I was calling to check up on how our supplies are doing, and how long they would hold." Weston chuckled over the phone.

Cavan tucked his tongue into his cheek as he turned to his computer. "What parameters are we looking at sir? Are we talking about the next war that burns hot and short? Or are we talking a long dragged out war?"

"Either or" came the annoyingly short response. It was never, 'A war that lasts x years, or in the event of x thing blowing up or being cut off, how long will remaining x supply last.', always with the vague wording.

Sighing in slight annoyance, Cavan pulled up the supply amounts on his computer. He had organized everything into different 'accounts' so to say. It made it easy to subtract and add how much was needed from each, though it did add time due to always needing to move around the forms.

"Going off the pretense of a short war of at max one year, I would say we could last with no issue, sir. Assuming that we received no resupply and had to feed the entire U.S military force in Japan. I would say that at the current time, the base, in combination with the other's around Japan, could sustain a campaign for roughly two and a half years. Three if we rationed supplies and used MREs as stand-ins from time to time."

"Alright, find out how much needs to be replaced, and I'll get it shipped over."

"Understood sir, though it might take a few days to get through everything and tally up everything."

"Don't worry, I think we'll both be busy for those few days."

/-/

 **5/8/2020 - 7:00 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Main Headquarters, Japan**

Weston was flipping through more reports of missing ships. Another two ship that were outside of the typhoon had gone missing. The international outcry was near deafening, people were demanding answers that no one had. Rumors were flying around the internet as to the cause of the disappearances. The most prevailing one was that the US and China were having a shadow war and were sinking ships that were related to the other's country's trade. Other's ranged into the classics of, aliens were invading and they were stealing the goods, because, 'Aliens'.

Companies, civilians, and their dogs were freaking. Ships were going missing, typhoons not behaving as typhoons should, and a brewing war, and why shouldn't they be. They had only ever known peace and safety. The media was just fueling the fire, making article after article about the three, and the potential effects. Traditional media might have significantly declined over the last two decades since the creation of the internet, but they still had sway.

A voice from his desk phone broke through his thoughts, "Sir, you have a video call from central." His secretary informed him.

Well, this had taken longer than expected. He thought the call would have come in yesterday after the first three ships had gone missing. "Alright, thank you for informing me."

Turning to the screen to his left, he accepted the call. The screen flashed showing the Secretary of the Navy Tyron Rolland as well as several other vice admirals.

"Sir" Weston said, giving Rolland a crisp salute. There must be some serious pressure on Roland if he was getting Weston on a group call.

"Vice Admiral Weston, can you guess why I decided to start this call?" While Rolland had asked a question, his tone left nothing to the imagination on what he wanted.

"Yes, sir, the disappearance of the five ships in the trade lanes of Oceania. I have already dispatched a destroyer squadron to investigate."

"Good to hear. Unfortunately, that won't call anyone down, nor will it relieve the pressure I am getting from Congress, the media, and the president to find out what's going on. We know it isn't the Chinese, both from their communications, as well as their economic interests." Rolland looked as though he had aged at least two years in three months since the last time Weston had seen him.

"That still leaves us the other problems in the region, and what our response will be. Thanks to your branch's work, we've now got nearly unrestricted access to their communications. We don't know how long that will last before the breach is found and closed so we need to make the most of it."

Sitting back down into his comfortable armchair, Weston repressed a groan. He knew that this was going to take hours.

* * *

 **5/10/2020 1:00 PM**

 **Oceania**

It had taken less than thirty minutes before all five ships of the 1st destroyer squadron were prepared to leave the base. The USS Perry when out first, followed by the USS O'Hare, the USS Hopper, USS Benfold, USS Ramage, and the USS Russell. They had processed at their full speed of thirty knots down to the location of the disappearing ships.

In the two days that they had been sailing, at least another three ships had gone missing from the lane. There was mounting international pressure to find the culprits, and several countries from the region had attempted to find those responsible. Vice admiral Weston had to hold a press conference on what the U.S was doing in response to the event.

Amos stood in the bridge, watching as the Perry and her sister ships plowed through the waves. There was a tense feeling in the air. They had heard the reports of more missing ships as they made their way south. He could feel the desire to punish those who would dare to take so many innocent lives coming from the crew. It was America's duty to protect international water, and this was more than just a slap in the face, this was an insult to the American Navy. They'd get the people responsible, and make them pay for every life lost.

"Sir, I'm picking up a distress signal, currently thirty miles southeast of our position." Came a call from the radio operator.

"Understood, message the rest of the squadron to make for that ship. We might catch the bastards we're looking for." Emerson said. "Radio them and inform them that we are on our way."

Amos shifted restlessly as they made way towards the distressed ship. It took a painful hour to reach the ship. Within ten minutes of getting the signal, the signal was lost, which only signified that they were going in the right direction. When they finally did reach the ship, the sight of the ship showed just how painful that hour had been. The distressed ship was a large cargo freighter, normally carrying roughly two hundred thousand tons, normally. The ship had been ravaged, large holes dotted the ship, one could see the guts of the shit from some of the larger ones. What shipping containers that were left on the ship had been ripped open or showed signs of explosion damage. There was no bridge left on the freighter, explaining the loss of the distress signal. Smoke could be seen coming out of some of the holes.

There were scattered pieces of life boats floating around the ship, and bodies could be seen floating on the ocean's waves. The ship was listing away from the approaching squadron, signifying that it was slowly taking on water on the other side.

"Xo, I want boarding parties deployed immediately, let's see if we can't find any survivors. I also want men to go out to pick up what bodies they can find; these men deserve better than to sink to the bottom of the ocean." Emerson's expression was a stone mask. He knew that he couldn't let his emotions run wild in this situation. He needed to keep a level head; he was the captain, it was his job to set an example. He could already see Amos's face twisting into a mask of rage, an expression mirrored by many of the crew on the bridge.

"Understood sir." Amos replied, his voice carried an undertone of simmering rage. Turning to pick up the ship's PA radio, Amos called "Combat squads, report to the flight deck, I repeat, combat squads to flight deck immediately."

Emerson held back a sigh he so desperately wanted to release. They had been so close to finding the bastards responsible, and missed them by less than an hour. It made him want to grind his teeth. "Radio, tell the rest of the squadron to form a circle around the freighter, and deploy teams to search teams for both survivors and bodies." Nodding to Emerson, Amos made his way out of the bridge and down towards the flight deck.

/-/

Amos could barely contain his fury. They had been so damn, close, and they hadn't made it in time. He clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white as he made his way down to the flight deck. Stepping out onto the deck, he saw the two teams of eight marines filling out onto the deck. Amos could see them glancing at the freighter, their faces forming grim lines.

"Alright, team 1, your mission is to go to the freighter and see if there are any survivors. Team 2, your mission is to take the boats and pick up what bodies you can find, these men deserve proper funerals. The rest of the 1st is also deploying teams in the same manner. We have no idea on how long before the ship goes down, but seeing as she hasn't gone down yet, there should be time."

The teams nodded as they headed from their vehicles, the helicopter was already spinning its blades. Amos made his way back towards the bridge, fighting to temper his frustration. There was a significant difference between looking at the numbers lost, and seeing just one of the attacks. There had been almost two hundred of these attacks by this point, so many dead, and no discernable reason could be found. This wasn't war, this was a massacre of civilians, and the killers were still loose.

* * *

00:00?

Location?

\- New vessels approaching the former target. Directives? -

\- Type? Origin? -

\- Military. The United States of America. -

\- New orders. Engage vessels -

 **Fin.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Quick disclaimer and author's note. First,** **I don't own Kantai Collection. Kantai Collection owned by Kadokawa Games and is published by please don't sue my poor ass.**

 **Second, sorry it took so long, this chapter was done for a while, but my proofreader didn't get around to it for a month.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Contact Unknown**

 **5/10/202 - 9:00 PM**

 **Michigan, United States**

"Turning now to international news, many are demanding more information on the disappearances of five cargo ships. These five ships were lost in the international shipping lanes of Oceania. These disappearances have happened over the last two days. The international community has been in an uproar over the losses and is demanding answers."

"Multiple countries have attempted to find out what happened to the ships, including the Philippines, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, and Australia. Unfortunately, no one has been able to find any clues as to the disappearances of the ships. When asked yesterday about what the U.S. was doing to help find out about the disappearances, the Vice Admiral of the U.S. 7th fleet, Dwight Weston, had this to say."

"These disappearances have greatly disturbed us. I can assure you that the U.S. Navy is doing everything in its power to help get to the bottom of this. I have already dispatched the 7th's, 1st destroyer squadron to investigate and patrol the lane in hopes of finding an answer to this."

"Well, there you have it, folks. There isn't much to go off of right now, but we'll keep you updated if the situation changes. Now back over to Steven with the stock reports."

* * *

 **5/10/2020 - 1:04 PM**

 **Oceania**

Staff Sergeant Lance Mitch dropped off the rope onto the deck of the ship, scanning for anything that might pose a threat. Some might think it silly to do such a thing on an abandoned ship, but he was a soldier, and he would do his duty. He could see the other marine squads from the ships starting their own descent to land. Once the teams had all landed, they set up a search pattern to search the ship for either survivors or clues as to who could have done the attack.

Mitch and his squad made their way through their part of the ship, and the inside only added to the gruesome tale that the outside told. The fires had broken out in parts of the hold in the body of the ship, thankfully due to the holes along the side, the smoke hadn't made the air dangerous. They called out for survivors as they quickly made way through. As the minutes passed, the danger of the ship finally capsizing grew, forcing them to pick up the pace.

They found few corpses as they pressed their way to the citadel, hoping to find at least someone. The few they did pass were less corpse and more blown apart bodies with missing pieces and burnt limbs. Eventually, after they made their way down the last flight of stairs to the citadel door. The door was sealed and locked, so there was a possibility there were some people left alive.

Mitch knocked on the door and called "United States Navy, Is there anyone in there?" He and his squad waited for what felt like hours but was only half a minute.

Eventually, the door gave a small noise and was slowly pushed out. A tired and stressed man poked his face out. The man looked to be of Asian descent and spoke in hushed Chinese. Mitch looked over at Mike, the teams' translator, and stepped back to speak into his radio.

"Border 1 to Perry, we've found survivors." Glancing back to the door, Mitch could see at least two others inside of the citadel. One of the men had a bandage on his left arm, and he could see red soaking it. The other was in an upright fetal position, Mitch could hear the man muttering something under his breath. "Perry, we have one wounded among the survivors, doesn't look serious, but tell Percy to get the med bay ready."

"Roger that Border one, med bay will be on standby, now get off that ship before it capsizes. It's a miracle that it's still floating.

"Roger that Perry, Border One out. Alright, let's get mov-." PLUSH, the sound of a round detonating in the water came from outside of the ship, cutting him off. Four more detonations sound quickly followed. BOOM. A sixth explosion rang as it was accompanied by the sounds of tearing metal.

/-/

 **Five Minutes Prior**

Lieutenant Commander Barrett watched the cleanup/rescue from the bridge of the O'Hare. While he held position standing in front of the captain's station, he desperately wanted to pace around. He wanted to get those responsible for this, and the waiting was starting to get to him. But he was a proud officer of the U.S Navy, one in his position did not show weakness. He needed to set a good example for those under him, he was to be the stable rock in times of crisis.

"Captain, I can't reach the base on Guam" came a call from his communication officer.

Barrett's brows dipped as he frowned slightly. Now, what could have caused that? He always made sure that his ship's equipment was fully functional before and after patrols. It was his duty as the ship's captain to do such basic maintenance checks. "Contact the Hopper and ask if they can raise Guam."

"Sir, I'm spotting six small vessels approaching our position coming from the northeast" the lookout interrupted, a note confusion could be heard in his voice.

"What! Nothing is showing on radar. How is that even possible" the O'Hare's radar operator cried. "There are no ship ships in the world that invisible to our radar."

Walking over to the man, Barrett took the binoculars and looked out to where the man saw the vessels. They were still some ways off, so he couldn't fully make them out. They did not appear to be large, but with the distance between them, it was hard to tell. He frowned as he lowered the binoculars, this was a problem. "Radio those ships and tell them to change their course, and have someone take a look at the radar, it should have picked up those vessels."

"It's not the radar sir; I can see our sister ships just fine."

Before Barrett could respond, he saw a flash came from one vessels, followed by five more. A few seconds passed before he started to speak. "What were those-", Barrett murmured under his breath, his eyes narrowing. He paused as he heard a faint screaming sound which was quickly rose in volume, his eyes widened in recognition. "Evasive man-" An explosive detonated a mere fifty yards from the ship bow, cutting him off. The explosion was followed up by two more shortly after. The explosions threw spouts of water as high as twenty feet into the air. A shell landed one hundred yards off the port side of the Bendfold. And to his horror, the Ramage lit up in a ball of black smoke and angry flames as a round detonated on her bow.

"XO, sound general quarter" Barrett roared over the sound of the explosions. "Gunnery Officer Saxon, I want targeting solutions Now! Someone, get a lock on those ships and hit them with Tomahawks."

"Sounding general quarters." A loud blaring alarm sounded throughout the ship. Barrett could hear the started shouts of the sailors as they rushed to their stations, their boots pounding on the metal floors.

"Helm, get this ship moving. I want S-patterns for one minute followed by a zig-zag."

"Aye captain." The O'Hare slowly, painfully so, creep forward in through the water building up speed. They had been caught flat-footed and were sitting ducks. The O'Hare had been fortunate that nothing had hit her in the first volley, but Barrett wasn't a man to rely on luck.

He could see the Bendford, and the Ramage slowly start to move from where they were as they reacted to the explosions. The damage control times on the Ramage were attempting to get the raging fire under control as the ship slowly built up speed as to avoid being an easy target.

"Sir, I can't get a lock on those ships," Saxon shouted. Barrett could hear a slight tone of panic in the man's voice. He quickly spat a curse under his breath

"Can you get the general location of the ships." The man quickly typed away at his console as another round detonated seventy odd yards behind them, landing at their original position. _Close, far to close_. He held back a grimace at the thought of his ship and crew being hit. "Work with me here gunnery, give me something."

"Hold on, hold on." The man was furiously typing, attempting to get a distance and location. They could have just pointed the gun and started firing, but it would have likely achieved little other than just wasting ammunition. "Got it, I don't have a lock but I have enough to start putting rounds down range effectively sir." Barrett nodded and gave the man a small grin "fire when ready."

Barrett watched as the ship's five-inch Mark 45 body rotated, its barrel angling upwards. "Firing." The O'Hare's five-inch gun roared its retaliation towards its attackers. "Com, radio the rest of the squadron the quadrants that we are firing at."

"On it captain." As the man looked back towards his station, Barrett took a second to look out at the rest of the squadron. He could see the marine squadrons moving away from the cargo ship, their helicopters quickly returning to their ships. The fire that had been raging on the bow of the Ramage seemed to be under control for now, but the ship would need time in drydock to fix the damages. He could make out a large hole in the bow, showing the insides of the ship. The metal around the hole was scorched black and warped from the explosion.

 _We've got you now you bastards. You've got hell to pay for your actions_. Barrett suppressed a snarl. _Whoever you, you've made your last mistake, and now we're coming for you._

/-/

Amos continued to call out orders as the Perry maneuvered around another round, sea water splashing over the Perry's deck as it detonated. Thanks to Cpt. Barrett and the crew of the O'Hare, the rest of the squadron had managed to start returning fire upon their still unidentified foes.

"Still no lock on the ships?" Amos asked as the Perry made its way towards the enemy ships. The path forward was anything but straight. The ship, along with the rest of the squadron, had been forced to into zigzag patterns in order to try and avoid the shells. "No sir, but we should be in visual range shortly. We'll find out who these bastards are, and send them to Davy Jones for what they've done."

And that was what was starting to make Amos uncomfortable. While their enemy was unknown, the pattern and method of the attack defied any standard method for modern ship warfare. The standard method of attack would be with missiles, once a lock was achieved from thirty to sixty miles out, and yet they had not only come into shelling range but come within visual range. They had also not shown up on the radar until their silhouette could be seen on the horizon. A feat that not even the Zumwalt class could achieve.

The style of attack seemed more in line with a destroy attack patterns of WWII, though without the rush to get into torpedo range. "Coming into view now… Almost ... WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE THOSE THINGS!" The sailor stumbled backward away from the window. His back hit the row of stations behind him. He simply stood there, frozen in shock. Amos was about to walk around to give the man a much-needed wake-up slap, but Emerson beat him to it. Striding around the row of consoles with a surprising mask of calm, Emerson gave the shocked sailor a solid smack across the face that sounded like it could have been straight out of a movie.

"Close your eyes, take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go." Amos followed around as Emerson spoke in a soft but commanding voice to the shocked man. He took the binoculars from the man's hand and passed them to Amos. He nodded and took the binoculars, focusing on the enemy while Emmerson worked to calm the man's nerves. His feelings on the situation went from mildly uncomfortable to straight up unnerved. _What causes a calm man to suddenly turn to a state of shock_. He's query did not have to wait long for it to be answered.

Focusing in on the flashes, he spotted what their quarry and felt a chill go up his spine. Their size was nothing impressive, about the size of a medium sedan in a tube shape. They were jet black in color. Possessing a mouth filled with large teeth, and a barrel sticking out of it, firing upon the squadron. What unnerved Amos the most though, was its eyes. A pale ghostly light shown from them, the light dancing as though it was flame. They gave off an unsettling aura that he could feel even with the distance, an alien feeling that one could not describe.

Distracted by the appearance of these, things, he almost missed one of the, 'things', turning its barrel towards the Perry. "Hard to port, now." Amos roared as he whipped around. The helmsman didn't question the call, yanking hard on the Perry's wheel, the ship sharply veering to the left in the hopes of dodging the shot. Sadly, it was not to be. The shot slammed into the ship's rear hanger. The detonation shot amber flames out the hangar doors as well as buckling the sides out. The radio on the bridge crackled to life as the sound of fire alarms blared on the lower decks. "Damage control to the hanger bay now! We have a fire in the hangar bay, it's spreading to the flight deck." Voice choked out over the radio. A second smaller explosion sounded as the ammunition and fuel stored in the hanger cooked off and the radio started blaring statistic.

Amos ground his teeth. There were at least ten men that worked in that hanger. A hand clapped itself to his shoulder, glancing behind him, he could see Emerson giving the 'things', a look of barely contained fury. "You need to keep a level head. Helmsman, forward at flank speed, I want the gunnery to be able to point the barrel of the gun directly at them. They've got something coming to them. Gunnery, keep putting rounds down range."

"Dead ahead, flank speed." The Helms man's facial expression did not show the bravest of faces, but he dutifully set the course that his captain ordered him towards. "Is this truly wise Captain," Amos whispered to Emerson as the ship's radio continued to give out updates on the fire situation interspersed with updates about the conditions of the other squadron ships. "We're only going to make it easier for them to hit us." Emerson gave him a weary smile "They've already prevented us from using our missiles and we can't use our radar to guide our gun. We haven't much of a shot of outrunning them while under fire, might as well go all in."

Amos nodded. He didn't like it, but there was no real other viable option as Emerson said. Retreating was pointless, not to mention a downright embarrassment. They couldn't use their best weapons, and their secondary weapon couldn't be radar assisted. They didn't have many options remaining. With a look of grim determination, Amos looked back out over the water towards their foe. There was not much left for him to do other than watch and try can call out warnings now. It was up to the helmsman and the gunnery to win the day.

Amos blinked as he just remembered something. Glancing over his shoulder at the bridge crew, he asked. "Question, is anyone getting this on video?"

/-/

Barrett staggered as an explosion rocked the O'Hare. Alarms blared as a pillar of fire erupted from the weapons deck. the multimillion dollar missiles that had been so useless in the battle up to this point, continued the tradition of doing nothing even as the shell detonated within their holding silos. Without the launch codes, the payloads remained inactive.

 _One sometimes has to look on the bright side of life_ Barrett thought as he grimaced. The damage control teams had already sprung into action, mere moments after the explosion.

"Status report, how bad is the damage?" Barrett asked as he righted himself.

"Weapons deck hit sir. The round detonated in silos ten, eleven and twelve. We've also lost silos one through ten, as well as thirteen though thirty. We've lost most of our missile launching capabilities, captain."

 _Not that they were doing us much good anyways_ Barrett grumbled in his head.

The battle was going anything but smoothly. His ship was the third to be hit. First the Ramage on her prow, then the Perry had taken the round in her hanger. The explosion resulting from the combination of explosives and other fuels had created a fire that was still burning, sending up a pillar of pitch black smoke which was sharply contrasted by the ocean's clear blue sky. And now the O'Hare's weapon's deck was left a burning wreck.

"Sir, the Perry has broken evasive maneuvers and is making flank speed towards the enemy." A shout came from the lookout. Sure enough, Barrett could see the 1st squadron's flagship making flank speed forwards. Whether Emerson was attempting to draw fire from the rest of the squadron or trying to get in closer to get a better shot, Barrett didn't know. What he did know, however, was that there was not a chance in hell that he was going to let Emmerson do this alone.

"Helm's man, bring our bow forward and set the speed to the flank. We're going after the Perry. We're not about to leave Captain Emmerson and the crew of the Perry to do this by themselves."

"Aye, Aye Captain. Bring our bow forward and setting speed to flank." The Helm's man called.

By now, the squadron was roughly five nautical miles out from the enemy. A hair's breadth fighting distance in modern times. This engagement went against almost every rule of modern naval warfare and everything that Barrett had been taught back at the academy.

 _Whelp, a fat lot of good those hours in lectors are doing for me. I don't ever recall any of my professors mentioning anything about a scenario with nonfunctional radar, useless missiles, and some SyFy original rejects. Life is funny that way._ He thought with a frown.

"Sir, we reached a range where were can use the camera on the Mark 45 to try an accurately aim the gun more effectively," Saxon shouted. Hope could be heard in his voice. Many of the other sailors on the bridge grinned, Barrett along with them.

"Switch to the gun cam. Let us give them our gratitude for the new decoration they gave us."

Saxon's face split into a near-feral grin "Aye, Aye sir." His voice near purring with the desire to finally return the favor their foes had so kindly given them.

Barret turned back to the windows, just in time to see the Perry's five-inch gun send a round screaming straight into the face of the lead enemy ship. The shell detonated within the thing's head. The resulting explosion sending pieces of what remained of its face flying as the whole thing was forcibly shoved to the side. The thing's remaining body fell to the side and began to sink beneath the waves. The bridge crew exploded into roars of approval at the action and the destruction of the things that had killed their comrades.

Barret briefly frowned as he thought of the thing as a 'ship.' The things were clearing not ships, and yet it somehow felt right to call them that. _I guess it's better than calling them 'things' forever._

The O'Hare's own gun thundered as it fired on the second ship behind the lead. The shell struck the body of the ship as it turned to fire. The explosion ripped most of its body apart. The ghostly flame that surrounded its eye began to flicker. It reminded Barrett of a campfire whose flames were dying. Though, the ship had a final spite for them before it went under. It fired one last time, it's barrel pointed towards the Bendford.

Barrett could only watch as the round exploded inside of the O'Hare's sister ship on her lower right side of the ship. The destroyer suddenly and violently swung to starboard. The explosion from the shell had taken out the starboard engine room he realized. Thankfully, none of the other ships in the squadron had been close enough for the ship to hit accidentally.

As much as Barrett wanted to help them, he knew now was not the time. There were still two enemy combatants that posed a threat. The ship that had hit the Bendford had already sunk beneath the waves. The Perry had claimed another enemy combatant, and the Hopper had scored her first kill. So instead, he picked a new target.

"Officer Saxon, target the right combatant. Let's finish this."

"I could not agree more." Saxon nodded in agreement. Barrett could see that the sentiment was mirrored by the rest of the bridge crew as the Mark 45 pivoted towards the enemy ship. They might have been outnumbered by this point, but that didn't seem to affect the enemy. They merely continued to fire upon the 1st squadron even as they're comrades were sinking down to Davy Jones.

As the O'Hare swung hard to port, a shell exploded twenty meters off the starboard side of the ship. The detonation threw sprays water across both the deck and windows of the bridge. The sharp movement forced Saxon to realign the Mark 45 to get the enemy ship back into his sights.

"Firing." The five-inch shell screamed out of the barrel at a velocity of over 2,500 m/s. The round slammed straight into the thing's mouth. The resulting explosion caused the body of the vessel to bulge out for a second; before a secondary blast resulted in the entirety of it to fly apart.

The final enemy was claimed by Ramage, the ship getting some revenge for the new hole she had in her bow. The round hit the side of its face but passed through and out before exploding. The ghostly flames of its eyes had gone out, but the body remained floating on the surface. Barrett realized that this as a perfect opportunity to find out what the enemy actually was.

"Helmsman, bring us up to that vessel. We'll bring it back to port with us. We need to know what these things are."

"Right away Captain."

Barrett turned back to the water splashed windows. A few had been cracked by the explosion that had rocked the ship. Damage control had managed to put out the fire on the weapons deck and was cleaning up what they could of the damages. Fifteen casualties were sustained by the crew of the O'Hare due to the explosion of the weapons deck. Two with minor burns and three with severe burns. Two had lost hearing from the pressure wave. Three had taken shrapnel from the flying metal, though none were lethal thankfully. Five men, however, had not been so fortunate. The blast wave had taken three of the men, resulting fire had claimed two.

Barrett held back a sigh. There were going to be five families that wouldn't be seeing their loved ones. He looked back to the rest of the squadron and thought about the others that were lost: at _least ten for the Perry and probably twenty for the Bendford._

"Sir, satellite communications have been reestablished. The base at Guam sent another squadron to investigate what happened when our signal was lost. Captain Emerson has also ordered the squadron to head for Guam."

"Please inform captain Emerson to hold until we have secured the enemy vessel."

"On it sir."

By now, the O'Hare had managed to pull alongside the strange thing and one of the O'Hare's rigid-hull inflatables was already in the water. The sailors on the inflatable had a chain and were attempting to attach it to the vessel. Eventually, they just hook the chain to the underside of the mouth. Once everyone was back on the ship, the O'Hare started to move towards Guam. Barrett was about to make his way back to his quarters to begin writing the death notifications when the sound of snapping metal interrupted him.

"Was that what I think it was?" Barrett exasperatedly asked. The battle might have lasted for less than half an hour, but it felt far longer. He wanted nothing more than for this day to be over, and yet things keep coming up to prevent that.

"Sir, the chain we attached to the thing snapped when we attempted to drag it." His XO sounded as though the sentence he had just said was that the moon was made of cheese.

Oh, how desperately he wanted to sigh and rub his eyes in annoyance. After taking a second to make sure that he keep his tone level, Barrett turned back to his XO "And how does that thing weigh enough to snap the chain? It not much bigger than a sedan."

"I don't know sir, but it did."

"Well, put larger chains on it. We need to get that thing back to find out what on earth it is."

"Right away sir" Barrett watched as once again men were sent out in the inflatable to attach an even larger chain to the thing. While he found it hard to believe that a small vessel broke half-inch steel chains, but the sound and sight of said broken chains left little room for doubt.

With two, one-inch thick chains on the vessel, the O'Hare began to pull forward. Thankfully the new chains did not snap. Unfortunately, a new problem had arisen. As the O'Hare built up speed, it was at a snail's pace. Somehow, the thing that should have weighed no more than a car, was slowing the ship. They eventually had to call the Hopper over to help pull it. Barrett let out a quiet sigh of frustration and turned command of the ship over to his XO. He rubbed his eyes as he made his way back to his personal cabin. Those death notifications were not going to write themselves.

 **5/10/2020 - 10:22 PM**

 **U.S Naval Base Guam, Oceania**

"Do you have the video, Nickolas?"

"Yes, sir. It has been put on this flash drive." Amos replied as he handed Emerson.

"You know that you can cut the 'sir' while it's just the two of us." Emerson smiled as he took the flash drive from Amos and put in the folder of papers in front of him.

The squadron had reached Guam an hour prior, and yet the pace had not slowed. As per custom in the Navy, when the group entered the port, they manned the railings. However, there were faces missing from the crew. Men who he had eaten, drank and worked with, and that were no longer with them. The hanger could be repaired, and supplies could be replaced, comrades could not return to life.

The men who had been working the docks when they arrived were shocked to see the state of the squadron. Ramage's bow looked as though it had gone through a shredder before being burnt in an oven. The metal that had not be blown off was sharp and jagged with the blackness of the fire that had burned. The Perry's hangar was blacked and deformed from the dual explosions that had rocked the ship. Its flight deck and rooms connected to the hangar showed the hallmarks of the event.

The O'Hare weapons deck was virtually non-operational, with the surrounding metal torn apart. One could see what had once missile silos that contained some of the best modern weapons in the world, rendered useless in the battle.

But the worst by far had been the Bendfold. The poor ship had to be pulled into port by the Perry and Ramage. She had been hit directly in the starboard engine room. The turbines had been destroyed, and the men working in the room died in the blast; all twenty of them.

The unloading had been a somewhat dark time. While many of the men were happy to be alive, they also knew that it could have been them being put in caskets. Both Weston and Haywood had demanded a post-battle debriefing as soon as they had reestablished their satellite communications.

Emerson and the other captains of the 1st squadron had given the two the short of it, along with a few photos of both the damages and the foes they had faced. During that debriefing, Weston's face had gone from worriedly stressed to ashen. Even the impeccable Haywood lost his poker face as his jaw just barely dropped. Which was the equivalent of it hitting the floor, it was the most expressive Emerson had ever seen the man.

By the time the short debriefing ended, there were only twenty minutes before the squadron arrived at Guam. Weston called it there, saying that after they arrived at the base, he wanted a more in-depth debriefing and anything they learned during the encounter. And so, Emerson had written out what he and his crew 'knew' about the things they had thought.

He was quite thankful that Amos got the battle on video. Sure, it might have been a bit shaky, a little unfocused, and not quite movie quality, but one had to make due in rushed situations. The fires, the explosions, the screams as shells fell, and most importantly, their foes could be seen with a level of clarity that no one could wave it off as 'misidentified ships.'

"How do you think the high command is going to react to this?" Amos gave half smile as the two of them made their way to the meeting room. The second meeting included more than just the command of the 7th fleet. It was set to contain every Vice-admiral in the U.S. Navy along with even the Secretary of the Navy.

"Not well. Most people would find it hard to believe that something out of this world has just shown up and started to attack. The evidence, however, will be enough to convince them to at the very least to take what we're saying seriously. If the damages and dead have not already done that." Emerson gave Amos a tired look "I mean if you heard that story, would you believe it without evidence?"

"Probably not," Amos admitted with a shrug. "But given what we experienced and having actually seen them with my own eyes, I struggle to believe that they were made on earth." He frowned as he looked pensive for a second before looking back at Emerson. "Did you hear about what happened with the thing that Barrett grabbed?"

"No. what happened?" Emerson had seen the Hopper go over to help drag it, but he had not heard a reason as to the cause for the need.

"When they first put the chain on and tried to move it, the weight was too great, snapping the chain."

"That does explain why Nate called the Hopper over to help pull the thing. But how could such a relatively small thing weigh so much?" Emerson's face twisted with puzzlement. It wasn't that big, and standard chains used for dragging should have easily been enough to drag it without a problem.

Yet both the O'Hare and Hopper were required to pull it into port at a reasonable speed. Emerson shifted the papers as he rubbed his face in annoyance. "We'll have to see what command wants to do with it. My bet is that they'll take it to some secret base for study. Assuming that there are no other attacks or more of those things running around attacking ships."

And therein lied Emerson's greatest worry. These things were unlike anything he had ever seen or heard about. They defied even law of buoyancy at its most basic level, and yet they clearly could stay on the surface and move around.

Nothing about them made any sense, but that was above his pay grade to worry about. Once they presented the evidence to command, they would likely order the thing to be brought back to the states, and he would never see or hear of it again.

Pausing before the base's main headquarters, Emerson turned to Amos. "After the meeting, what do you say to going into town and pour a few shots for those gone?"

Amos nodded while giving a weak smile. "Of course, Taylor. It's the least we could do for those gone. The best we can do now is get the bodies home to their families and remember them."

"Could I perhaps join you in your outing, Captain Emerson, Lieutenant Commander Amos?" A voice inquired from behind them.

Turning, Emerson saw Barrett approaching, dressed in his Captain's uniform. He could tell it had been freshly cleaned and pressed, likely by his hand. He was also carrying a folder filled with papers for the meeting.

"Hello, Captain Barrett. How are the men of the O'Hare?" Amos asked. While his face had a perfectly polite smile, his voice was cold with just a hint of frost.

He held back a sigh and gave Barrett a small smile while giving Amos a glance. Amos and Barrett had never had the best relationship. Barrett's stricter attitude towards command, regulations, and his usual habit of enforcing rules off duty, grated on the more relaxed man. While that same relaxed nature and lack of strict adherence to regulations made Barrett look down slightly at Amos. Seeing him as unprofessional in some respects.

"While they are physically okay, I believe they are mourning the loss of their comrades."

"Of course, you can join us, bring anyone who wants to join." Emerson gave a genuine smile as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "But before we can drink to their memories, we have to explain to the brass what caused it. Come on; we shouldn't keep them waiting."

Amos nodded and gave the two a salute. "Good luck, Captain Emerson, Captain Barrett."

Emerson and Barrett returned the salute before making their way into the building. After a minute of walking, Emerson glanced at Barrett. "That was the first time that you didn't try and correct my XO while on duty."

Barrett didn't respond right away, just looking forward. "While I do find Lieutenant Commander Amos's casual use of first names while addressing a superior officer grating, the desire to not create conflict overruled my desire to correct."

When Emerson simply raised an eyebrow, Barrett let out a small sigh. "I didn't want there to be unnecessary tension during the outing for our fallen comrades. Personal issues should not get in the way of remembering those who are no longer with us."

Emerson simply nodded. The rest of the walk to the meeting room was quiet, both doing a quick mental review of their information before the meeting. As they entered the room, Emerson saw the skipper of the Hopper Mat Vere murmuring with Shad Holden, the captain of the Ramage. Vere was short but a stout man of roughly five foot six, with graying brown hair and a trimmed mustache. Holden stood five foot ten, shaven, and was thoroughly bald.

Vere looked over as he noticed them walk in. "Ah Taylor, Nate. Good to see, I'm guessing you have everything ready for your part?"

"Of course, Mat, though I don't know if there is much of a difference in information. We all were in that fight." Emerson glanced down at his watch. "We've got about ten minutes before the call starts. Let's wait for Jarred to get here, and then compare notes."

Upon finishing giving out his proposal, the door to the room opened; revealing the missing Captain, Jarred Adams. He was a man that looked like what would happen when you put muscles on an ectomorph body. He had a head of the color of wheat and a bright smile on his face. "Ah, just the man we were looking for."

"Ah, it seems I'm late to the party."

"Not particularly, come on in and have a seat." - Emerson waved to the table as he took a seat himself. - "We were just going to go over our notes before it starts."

The next few minutes were spent going over what they knew. While the list might have been overall short, what was known broke modern conventions and could turn the world on its head, they had just managed to finish going over their notes, the large screen on the wall in front of them flashed, signaling that the meeting was starting.

Everyone in the room stood and saluted as the screen displayed the secretary of the Navy, Rolland, Vice-admiral Weston, Rear Admiral Chester, Vice-admiral of the 3rd fleet Dwayne Monroe, Kelvin Conner, Vice-admiral of the U.S. 2nd fleet. Rolf Brooks, Vice-admiral of the 4th U.S. fleet, Zachary Isaac, Vice-admiral of the U.S. 5th fleet, and the Vice-admiral of the 6th fleet Jeffery Benton. Haywood and all the other directors of intelligence were also present.

Emerson suppressed the urge to gulp; it was one thing to think about being in front of all the admirals, and actually being in front of them. "Gentlemen, I must thank you for coming together for this meeting on such short notice and after the loss of some of your men. They will be missed." Rolland closed his eyes as he bowed his head, many of the others nodded their heads.

"We thank you for your condolences. Now, let us show you the cause." Emerson nodded to the Petty officer working the computer in the room. The man nodded and pulled up a slideshow. Several of the admirals and even a few of the directors gapped at the picture of the shi… the thing that they had pulled into port. Even with half of its face blown off, the other half was in good enough condition to give a good look at it.

"This is an example of one of the beings we fought, its origin, construction material, weapons, and power source are all unknown to us. Unless DARPA has been massively holding back on a secret super weapon that went rough, we have no clue what these things even are other than hostile."

"Could they be Chinese?" Isaac asked as he stared wide-eyed at the example.

"While we cannot officially write that possibility off, we would not put stock in it. We believe that these shi- vessels were the ones causing cargo ships to go missing, which would lead to damage to the Chinese economy." Emerson responded with the shake of his head. "Besides, the Chinese have to steal U.S. technology just to try and keep up. I highly doubt they are capable of making this level of stealth technology and not flaunt it around for everyone to see."

"What do you mean, 'this level of stealth technology' captain?' the director of the 4th fleet asked.

"These vessels never once showed up on any of our radars. Before or during the engagement. We never detected them until a crewman on the O'Hare spotted them approaching on the horizon."

The reaction to this piece of information was even more pronounced reactions of shock. Several of the members made exclamations of surprise and disbelief. "How is that even possible, not even our most advanced ship is capable of such a feat," Benton growled.

"We don't know sir. We'd have to send it to a lab to figure that out."

"The second issue we discovered only compounds the first ," Holden added.

"Well, at least it can't be as bad as invisible vessels," Brooks grumbled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Adams gave Emerson a knowing sidelong glance.

"They can block satellite communications."

At first, Brooks did not react, simply staring off into the middle distance. After thirty seconds, he put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. Emerson almost pitied the man, finding out one's most advanced technology is outclassed by beings of unknown origin isn't the kindest thing the find out. Not even mentioning technology that didn't even exist yet and could cripple almost any modern tactic. _Honestly, what did the man expect to happen when he said that? Their weakness was salt water?_

"There is at least one silver lining that we found. Short range radio and laser transmissions do not seem to be affected, allowing us to stay in communications and coordinate with each other while out at sea."

Holden removed his head from his hands and sat back in his chair with a tired look on his face. "Well, at least there is some good news."

"We also have a Video to show you of the battle, though only some of the 'highlights' are shown. We will send copies of the full, unedited video after the meeting through secure channels." Adams nodded to the Petty officer to play the video.

While the full video was roughly twenty minutes long, it only showed shorts clips of a few different scenes. Switching to a clip showing the things firing upon the squadron. "As you can see from this short clip, the sh .. combatants did not display any level of intelligent action, strategy, or maneuvers beyond basic move and fire actions. This leads us to believe that they're some kind of dumb A.I., this is reinforced in this next clip."

The next clip showed once again showed the things firing, but only two still fighting, another two could be seen slowly sinking and two entirely under the waves. Vere picked up from where Adams left off. "Even though they had lost the numerical advantage, and are likely to be destroyed, they continue to fire in the same location, undaunted. If they were manned, sentient, or even just a living organism, they would have at least reacted to such a situation, yet they did not."

"Another thing that we discovered with these things is their weight. They-" Barrett began

"I apologise for interrupting, and I don't mean to sound rude, but how does their weight have relevance in the current conversation." Monroe interrupted, his puzzlement was mirrored by a many in the meeting.

Barrett simply nodded, understanding their confusion. "Tell me Vice-admiral, how much do you think one of these things weigh."

"Couldn't say, maybe a few tons, eight at most."

"What if I told you they weighted fourteen hundred tons," Barrett said with a straight face, showing that this was not a joke.

Everyone just started at Barrett. _Well damn, I knew they weigh a lot due to the chains. But not fourteen hundred tons, how do those ships… Things damn it, things, weight so much._ Emerson felt his eye twitch in annoyance as he thought of the things as ships.

"Do you have evidence, for this, remarkable claim?" Rolland asked his tone one of shock rather than straight up disbelief.

"After we arrived in port, I ordered the vessel pulled out of the water. When we first attempted to move it after the engagement, it snapped the chains we originally placed on it. It took both the O'Hare and Hopper to pull it at a speed of twenty-five knots. So, I was curious about what it weighed. So, when they were pulling it out of the water, we had it weighed, it roughly weighed fourteen hundred pounds. The evidence will be sent over after the meeting with the rest of the information that we have."

"So, we have shi … vessels with the most advanced stealth technology and dumb A.I. running around and attacking trade ships and our military vessels. Are there any more of these things running around?" Connor asked, the man looked exasperated with the situation.

"This is our greatest worry. We don't know. There is no way of knowing if there are other than more ships go missing. Until then, all we can do is sit and wait to see if more ships go missing." Emerson said with a frustrated sigh. They couldn't just patrol the entire ocean looking for these things, even if they had the entire U.S. Navy. There was simply too much open space and shipping lanes to do it.

"Thank you, gentlemen, both for this information and sacrifices. I'll have a ship sent over to pick up the vessel and bring it back for study; we need to know what we're dealing with". Rolland clasped his hand in front of him as he leaned back in his chair.

A few more questions were bandied about between the members as the meeting wound down discussing various ideas. Before the official ending of the meeting, a door banging open could be heard from Haywood's mic. "Haywood, we've got a problem."

Haywood looked away from his screen as he turned to address the person who had just barged into his office. "What is it."

"These Unknowns have struck again! They've attacked the Australian Navy. The whole world knows about these things."


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry this took so long to come out. I got stuck in several places when writing, along with exams and time for editing, the publishing of this chapter got delayed.**

 **I don't own Kantai Collection. Kantai Collection owned by Kadokawa Games and is published by please don't sue my poor ass.**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Refocusing**

 **5/10/2020 - 11:25 PM**

 **U.S Naval Base Guam, Oceania**

Haywood had to give the others in the call credit. The men had the control that leaders should have, and he respected that. There were no gasps of shock, shouts of surprise or disbelief. The Vice-admirals, the heads of intelligence, and the Captains of the 1st squadron reacted with restrained expressions. A few eyes widened, some grim looks, and a few looked resigned.

"Well, that confirmed my fear that there were more of them." Emerson clasped his hands in front of him with a resigned voice that was heavy with exhaustion. "This was not a one-time event that we can sweep under the rug. These unknowns have attacked and killed both U.S. Navy personnel and have now attacked one of our closest allies. I also feel safe in my belief that the disappearances of the cargo ships are related to these vessels."

Emerson looked at Rolland. "Secretary, I believe that we need to inform the rest of the world of what we have found. These beings are too dangerous to try and keep secret."

The secretary's face took on a ponderous look as few others quietly discussed the proposal. A few of the Vice-admirals and intelligence heads looked as though they wanted to argue against the idea but were having difficulties coming up with potential reasons as to why that wouldn't likely backfire in their face.

"I second Captain Emerson's idea." Haywood sat forward in his seat as he spoke. "Adding to what the Captain has already said, people are already questioning what happened to the 1st squadron."

"What do you mean?" Weston asked as his brows dipped.

Instead of immediately responding, Haywood pulled up a feed from social media. The feed showed a few pictures of ships that had explosion damage, blackened steel, and ripped metal. While the Vice-admirals didn't recognize the ships, it didn't take much for the Captains to realize what they were looking at.

"Those are our ships." Barrett's voice was barely a whisper.

Haywood nodded once he saw everyone understood what it meant. The public had photos of the damaged ships and had spread it all over social media and were spreading like wildfire. Combined with the upcoming release of the news of the Australian Navy being attacked, many would start to ask questions.

"As things currently stand, the best course of action would be to come out and inform the world of the danger that exists. We should show the captured vessel and inform the world of their capabilities."

"If we do that, then the international community will demand that we hand it over for a shared study. We would lose the ability to study by ourselves and potential gain the technology that these things possess." The Vice-admiral of the 4th fleet argued.

"And if we don't come out and say we have it, people are like going to find out anyway," Weston interjected. "Even if by so miracle we had managed to keep people from finding out about the damaged ships, the deaths caused by encountered would lead many to ask uncomfortable questions about how said deaths happened."

"But could we not just say that we have also had a run into these beings that have attacked the Australian Navy and just not mention that we got a hold of one?"

Emerson paused for a second, thinking about the possibility.

"Alright, we just have to-"

"I wouldn't count on that being a secret for very long." Emerson groaned as he seemed to come to a realization, his voice held hints of embarrassment. Haywood and everyone else looked back to the man as he rubbed his temple.

"Why would that be Captain Emerson?" Barrett asked, his eyebrows dipping in puzzlement.

Emerson crossed his arms as he looked at his fellow Captains. "Tell me, did anyone tell their men to not mention the captured vessel?"

At that, everyone in the call simply froze as their brains processed what had just been asked. Vere and Holden glanced at each other before looking down at the table. Adams slumped back into his chair as he ran a hand through his hair, let out a sigh. Barrett looked as though he had taken the slight oversight as a personal failing.

"I'll take that as a no."

Rolland nodded. "With that, the news will spread like wildfire throughout the city, from there to social media, and then to the world. There is no way we can spin this to cover up what we have. We are best off going public with both what has happened as well as the captured vessel."

Everyone nodded, there was nothing else that could really be done that wouldn't damage the U.S.'s reputation. It would also likely put others' lives in danger, there were more of them out there, and they did not seem to care who they attacked.

Haywood decided now would not be the best time to bring up the fact that at least another three ships had failed to arrive at their ports and could not be raised on the radio. The meeting had already gone over everything that they could have at the current time, nothing would be achieved by bringing up the information.

After a few minutes of pre-planning the announcement, the call ended. Haywood could tell everyone was on edge from the meeting. If he was to be honest with himself, he was as well. Unknown forces showing up and attacking not just civilian vessels, but men who were under his jurisdiction. He would not let this stand.

He did a bit of stretching as he stood and walked over to the coffee maker in his office. ' _No information on what we're dealing with, technology beyond anything we have, unknown origin, and the more I delay, the more innocents and sailors are put at risk._ ' Haywood closed his eye and took a deep breath before releasing it as he glanced out at the harbor. ' _Time to get to work._ '

/-/

"Well, that was pleasant," Adams said with a sigh, breaking the minute of silence that had taken hold since the end of the meeting. His voice was laced with sarcasm and frustration. "Those things are still out there attacking others and we're stuck in dry dock for who knows how long."

Emerson could understand Adams's frustration, for he felt the same. "During the meeting, did anyone else have a strong urge to call the things we fought 'ships'?" A slightly pointless question, because he had heard the slip-ups the others had made. It was simple to distract them from the frustration of not being able to hunt down the beings responsible for this whole mess.

"Yes. I can't say why I keep trying to call them ships, but I keep trying." Holden's face was one of both puzzlement and pensive thought. "For some reason, it just seemed right to try and call them that."

Vere stroked his mustache. "It is rather puzzling, they look nothing like ships."

Emerson glanced down at his watch. The hands showed 11:43 PM. "Well, it's almost twelve o'clock. I've agreed to meet my XO and Commander Barrett off duty for drinks in memory of those gone. Would any of like to join us?"

Holden, Vere, and Adams nodded. "Well then, let us get going." He said as he stood and made his way towards the door.

Behind him, Emerson heard Adams sigh. "A brewing cold war, international tension, an election, an unknown force attacking indiscriminately, and we're not even to June yet."

* * *

 **5/11/2020 - 12:18 AM**

 **Hagatna, Guam**

Emerson released a tired sigh as he took a seat at the table. The pub was filled with regulars and off duty sailors. Some were boisterous and enjoying their time off-duty, which signaled that they were stationed on the base. He could easily pick out those who were part of the 1st squadron, they were quieter, their faces portraying an array of emotions ranging from sorrow and loss to begrudging acceptance of what happened and those they had lost.

He spotted his XO chatting with a few other sailors from the Perry. Emerson waved as Amos looked in his direction. He nodded and excused himself as he made his way over through the crowded bar.

"Talking to your bandmates Nick?" Emerson gave the young man a smirk "Are you boys going to treat us to a performance?"

"You know that we only do that at the love shack. Besides, even if we wanted to, none of us have our instruments." He shook his head with a small smile as he sat down.

Emerson cast his eye around the bar before locking onto a specific part near the back. He gave the lieutenant a mischievous grin. "You might not have your instruments, but the pub has a karaoke machine."

"Oh no you don't Taylor, you're not getting me to sing tonight."

"You should address your superiors by their proper titles Commander." An annoyed voice cut in.

Emerson worked to suppress a groan as he looked behind him. Barrett stood behind him and was giving Amos a displeased look. Amos for his part gave Barrett an annoyed look.

"But Nate, we're all off duty. Why bother?" Amos's voice was almost sickeningly sweet in tone.

Barrett's eye twitched before glaring at Amos "Because I am the senior officer, and while I may not be your direct commanding officer, I still stand above you."

Amos rolled his eyes "The both of us are off duty. You really need to learn how to relax Nate."

Barrett twitched. "We may be off duty Lieutenant, but that does not excuse one from throwing one's respect for command out the window the moment one is off duty."

Emerson had enough of the bickering as he stepped in between the two. "Alright, that's enough. We aren't here for the two of you to argue and be at each other's throats. We're here to remember those who are no longer with us. Can the two of you at least put away your disagreement for the night?"

The two looked at each other for a moment before turning away. The two grumbled an apology to each other before Barrett made his way over to the bar.

Emerson rounded on Amos. "Was that really necessary, Nikolas? Could you not aggravate him at every opportunity?"

"Sorry, sorry," Amos sighed as rubbed the back of his head "It's just whenever he gets up on that high horse of his about rank while off duty, it just gets to me."

"And you constantly using his first name gets to him irritates him just as he irritates you."

"I know, it's just that off duty is the time when sailors shouldn't have to worry about rank. It's the time when rank doesn't matter and everyone can get to know each other without the barrier of rank."

Emerson sighed, as much as Amos showed promise in becoming an officer, it was these ideas that held him back and showed just how young he really was. "You need to learn that you're no longer warrant officer Nikolas. You're going to have to stop acting as their friend and start acting like their superior officer."

"I know, I know. But that's my point, why can't off duty be the time when I am their friend and while on duty be their commanding officer."

"Because that will compromise your ability to make decisions at a critical moment. You need to be able to make choices for the benefit of both the Navy and fleet, not just your friends."

"No, it won't. I won't let my friends affect my decisions as an officer."

"Everyone says that Nikolas. The problem is, there's a very big difference between say what you will do while sitting in safety and make a decision in the heat of battle. And I have a feeling that they are going to be more battles coming in the future."

Amos looked away conflicted and frustrated. Emerson could understand his plight, he too had been young once and though similar things. "But, we're not here to worry about that," Emerson put a hand on the junior officer's shoulder and lead him over to the bar "Bartender, two glasses of your best rum."

The man nodded, pulling two glasses and a fancy looking bottle with a long name out. "Question, is the karaoke machine on?" Emerson asked as the bartender passed the glasses.

"Yes, we just had it installed two days ago."

"Taylor, I said you're not getting me-" Amos began, shooting him a dark look.

"Calm down, I was just going to ask for a moment of silence." Emerson rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the machine.

He walked over to the console and switch it on. After fiddling with the menus, Emerson found the one that was just the speaker and stepped up onto the stage.

"Mic check, one, two." The background noise in the pub started to die down as people turned towards the stage.

"Sorry to interrupt your evening folks, but I have a small request. Earlier today, the Navy lost good men," The non-naval personnel in the bar started to murmur, surprised by the information. "I'm sure many would like to know more; further information will be coming out shortly. But for tonight, I simply wish to ask for a moment of silence and you to drink to those lost today."

The pub fell into silence the goers paid their respects to the fallen. A few raised their glasses, soon followed by the rest of the pub. After a minute of silence, Emerson continued "Thank you. Though we can't leave this off on a sad note, and thankfully we're not. Commander Amos has volunteered to do some karaoke and is also willing to take requests."

" **MOTHER FUC** -"

Amos's shout of anger was drowned by the roar and cheering coming from the pub goers and his fellow sailors. Many of the sailors had on shit-eating grins as they knew Amos had done no such thing. Shooting him a murderous glare, Amos made his way over to the stage. He chuckled as he handed Amos the mic and patted him on the back before making his way over to the table where Nate was sitting.

Even as he sat down, Amos was still shooting him glares as people called for different songs. Emerson smiled and waved back as the music started. He had sneaking suspicion that there would be a sudden increase in the number of forms that he would need to start filling out over the coming weeks.

* * *

 **5/11/2020 - 8:00 AM**

 **Sydney, Australia**

"We have breaking news coming from the navy. Around ten o'clock last night, the 3rd Australian Destroy Squadron came under attack while out on a patrol, looking for the cargo ships have gone missing in the last few days in Oceania. During the course of the attack, the HMAS Anzac and HMAS Darwin took severe damage, which resulted in the loss of seventy sailors from the explosions and resulting fires. Unfortunately, both the HMAS Arunta and HMAS Ballarat were sunk during the engagement. Over two hundred and twenty hands were lost with those ships."

"A sailor managed to get a photo of one of the attackers during the brief moment when their firing. Unfortunately, the photo is of poor quality as you can see. It only outlines a medium-sized black shape in the distance. We'll keep you up to date as the story-."

"what! O-, oh, okay. Okay, breaking news within breaking news. The United States has announced a press conference. They claim to have knowledge of what attack the navy last night. The press conference will be happening later tonight at 9:50 PM. Tune in to watch a live coverage of the conference."

* * *

 **5/11/2020 - 3:50 PM**

 **Washington D.C, United States**

"Ten minutes till we're live sir."

"Alright, I'll be out in three," he called back while straightening his tie. Robbie Inoverhead stood from his comfortable chair, picking up the written speech off his desk as he made his way out of the oval office.

The media had gone into a frenzy in preparing to cover this press conference. No stone left unturned and no piece of information to insignificant. Thankfully, there hadn't been enough time between the announcement and the press conference for the media to make a complete ass of itself. Like saying a black hole had stolen the missing ships.

As he made his way through the white house towards the press room, a fleet of aids and advisers followed him. Double checking his outfit, asking if he wanted anything, asking if he was ready. Etcetera, etcetera.

What he was really ready for was his term to be over. The past eight years had not been the most kind to him. His wife joked that he had aged twenty years in a mere eight, but he certainly felt like he had. His originally brown hair had turned peppered during his time in office and his face had developed lines due to all of the stress.

He had lost count of the nights where he couldn't fall asleep due to worry and second-guessing. Had he made the right decision signing that bill? Should he have persuaded negations with that nation? Or should he have focused on another? Could he round up enough support to push a bill through Congress that he believed could help his country?

He had been hoping that war could have been avoided with China, and he had gotten what he wished, just not how. Inoverhead had wanted it through international pressure and talks, not through an attack by an alien force.

Stopping just outside of the conference room, he turned to his chief speaking adviser. "Now, before I walk into that room and announce to the world that there is an alien force attacking us, am I allowed to say alien."

The man gave an unsure shrug and hand motion. "While officially, it has yet to be confirmed, all evidence points to it being a non-earth force. We've pulled all leads we could possibly find on this and came back with nothing. The technology that the contacts possess is beyond anything we possess and anything anyone else has."

"So, alien then?" Inoverhead asked with a raised brow.

"Again, officially no, but all evidence points to yes. It would best to just say unknown forces and leave it as a potential but unconfirmed possibility if someone asks."

"Well then," pausing to role his shoulders. "Showtime."

Even before he had opened the door, the noise emanating from the room had been noticeable. When he fully opened the door and stepped through, the murmuring increased in intensity. The sounds of camera shutters clicking and flashes going only added to the growing volume of the room as he strolled up to the podium.

"Good afternoon. Today, I'm here to bring light to the tragic attack on the Australian Navy, and of the attack on the U.S. Navy that made us aware of this dangerous threat. Yesterday on May 15th, at around one o'clock, the U.S. 7th fleet first destroyer squadron received a distress signal while patrolling the shipping lanes in the south Pacific where several ships had gone missing."

When he had started the speech, the chattering in the room died and the reporters had focused solely on him. If it were not for the camera flashes and clicks of shutters closing, the only sound would have been his voice.

"On route to the signal, it was abruptly cut off. Upon arriving at the last location of the distress signal, the squadron found the Danxia Shan, a cargo ship. The vessel showed numerous signs of an attack such as a firing on the port side of the hull, numerous holes cross the hull reminiscent of a naval gun, and a large portion of its cargo missing or floating on the ocean, as well as scattered pieces of lifeboats and the bodies of some of the crew."

Several gasps came from the crowd and a low murmur started to come up from the reporters and journalists.

"Teams of marines from the 1st squadron were deployed to retrieve the bodies on the ocean and to search the ship for survivors. At ten past one, three survivors were found hold inside of the ship's citadel."

The dark mood that had started to settle over the room started to lift as the crowd got a silver lining to the story, a bright side to look on. Inoverhead resisted the urge to shake his head.

"At the same time as the rescue teams found the survivors, the squadron came under fire from unknown forces. These forces possessed technology that allowed them to approach the squadron without showing up on the radar."

Again, silence returned to the room in a stunned form as many simply looked at him. Many of them likely knew little of military technology or the difficulty of making stealth weapons. But even they knew that one couldn't completely cloak a ship from radar.

"The unknown forces launched an unprovoked attack that hit the USS Ramage on her prow, no casualties were sustained from the hit."

The some in the crowd released a sigh of relief, believing that nothing terrible had happened. Others in the crowd weren't so naïve and could tell he wasn't done talking.

"In the proceeding engagement, USS Perry, USS O'Hare, and USS Bendford all sustained damage in crewed sections of the ship. The U.S. Navy lost thirty-five good men yesterday, may they rest in peace."

What good mood that had been built in the room died a sad death as he broke the news. He almost felt sorry for being the bearer of the news, the death of servicemen was never a pleasant thing.

"They shall be greatly missed and shall be remembered for their actions. However, their deaths were not in vain. All enemy combatants were neutralized and thanks to the quick thinking of Lieutenant Commander Nate Barrett, they managed to capture one of the unknown vessels."

Taking out a remote, Inoverhead turned on the projector which displayed a picture of the captured 'unknown' vessel. A number of gasps erupted from the audience as the number of camera clicks merged into a single continues sound.

"This is what we believe attacked the Australian Navy and killed over two hundred sailors."

Inoverhead repressed a flinch as the volume in the room skyrocketed by seventy decibels as every reporter and journalist began to shout over one another to have their question heard. After a quick glance around he selected a random person.

"Yes?"

"Is there anything that you can officially say as the identity of these unknown attackers?"

"Officially no. In the limited time between the attack and this press conference, we have no current leads that can be confirmed."

He had to quickly jump from person to person to try and keep up.

"What will the U.S. do now?"

"We will pursue all leads that we can so we can find those responsible for the enabling of this attack."

"What will be done with the captured vessel?"

"That it will be taken to a research facility for study. Where is currently undecided and transportation for the vessel has not reached where it is being held."

"Since there are more of these unknown forces still attacking shipping lanes, what will the U.S. do?"

"The United States is committed to protecting the world's oceans from aggressors. These unknown forces have killed not only U.S. service men, but civilians as well. Whoever these forces are, they present a clear and present threat which cannot be tolerated."

Inoverhead quickly pointed to a woman who looked about ready to rush the stage if she didn't get her question asked.

"The U.S. is known for its advanced military technology, yet this attack was a surprise. How or why was this tragedy allowed to happen?"

His eyes narrowed as the took in her expression as she asked her question. The expression was not of one who was aggrieved at a perceived tragedy, nor did it demand an answer to a potential frailer that cost the lives of who served. No, it was one of a hungry predator that smelled potential blood in the water.

He had seen that face before on numerous occasions. The expression he has seen on reporters who believed they had the 'gotcha ya' question. Meant to catch a speaker in an awkward moment and create a controversy. He had fallen for it early in his presidency but had learned to spot the tells over the years.

"We are looking into how this happened, but current information leads us to believe that these vessels possess advanced stealth technology capable of making them invisible to our radar."

Inoverhead had to quickly take a sip of water to hide the smile breaking out on his face due to the look of sheer indignation that arose from on the reporter's face. She had been determined to catch him out only for him to chop her line of inevitable follow up questions off at the knees.

He turned back towards the crowd as they demanded more questions to be answered and prepared for what would likely be a marathon conference. _This is going to be a slog._

 **Two hours later**

Inoverhead let out a tired sigh as he flopped into his comfortable chair. The chair let out a quiet groan as though it too was just as tired as he. The action was unprofessional and unbecoming of the president of the United States, but he hardly cared.

A knock at the door broke the pleasant quiet of the office.

"Come in" he called as he kicked his feet up on the desk to take some pressure off them. The shoes were nice but were not meant to be stood upon for two hours.

"Sorry to disturb you sir, but there are several calls coming in from other world leaders demanding to speak to you."

He didn't even bother to hide the groan as pulled his feet back down and stood. "A man's work is never done."

"There's no rest for the wicked, Robbie." a voice from the side chuckled.

He smiled at his vice president as they made their way towards the conference room specifically built to handle a large group call.

A number of his staff and cabinet followed along and discussed the inevitable topics that would be brought up and the fun questions they would ask. Like, how was the U.S. going to deal with this new threat, where were they going to transport the vessel to, and would they hand over control of the captured vessel to the U.N.

By in the short duration of time between locations they had laid out some ground rules for the call and potential questions. The vessel would stay under U.S. control and it was not be going anywhere near China were the main two.

The best locations they could think of to send it was either Australia or Japan. Both were close U.S. allies and transportation of the vessel would be easier to guard then trying to get it back to the states.

"From one grilling to the next, you'd think I was on a cooking show." Inoverhead sighed as he sat down behind a desk facing a panel of monitors.

"If you're hosting then I want a change in channel." His secretary of state replied dryly.

"Hey, I'm at least watchable."

"Oh, you are tolerable, but you'd be what I'd turn on as background noise." His defense minister smirked.

He threw his hands into the air in mock despair. "Dissed by my own cabinet. Woe is me."

A round of chuckles arose from the men as they took positions off to the side of the room.

"We have your back, Robbie."

He couldn't help but smile, they were good friends and even harder workers. He had been fortunate to have had them for his years in office.

"Put them through."

The screens flashed and displayed the faces of a number of world leaders who held a number of different expressions.

"Prime Minister Alton, Chancellor Eckhard, Prime Minister Shichirou, President Dimitri, President Ghi hin Xing, President Putin let us begin."

Britain's minister Alton looked annoyed. "I had been under the assumption that this would be a private call."

The man's displeasure was mirrored to varying degrees by some of the other leaders such as France's Dimitri and Germany's Ekhard. Both Putin and the Chinese leader Xing both held neutral expressions, but he was reasonably sure that they weren't overjoyed to be on a conference call.

"Well, you all called around the same time demanding an immediate discussion. So, we thought it best that to get all of your questions answered at once."

He put on an easy smile, knowing full well that in no way was this was what any of them wanted.

"I mean, my office received so many calls wanting private talks, interviews and the like, we had to cut down the list and try to save some time. So, we went for the most important callers."

They didn't buy it for a second, he knew it was BS and so did they, but they couldn't do anything about it now. By saying they were the most important and talking to them first, it removed anyway for them to say that he didn't value. By putting them all into one call, he prevented attempts to pressure him to favor their country over the others by making them tiptoe around each other.

Or it could horribly backfire if they ganged up to pressure him, but that was as likely as a man going back to Mars for a second time in the next day.

"But enough with the pleasantries. Let us cut to the chase."

* * *

 **5/18/2020 - 9:30 AM**

 **U.S Naval Base Guam, Oceania**

Amos groaned as he stepped into a much-needed shower. The past week had been rather hectic. The reaction to the presidential address on the attack had not been the calmest he had ever seen.

With the question of aliens asked and the president's half answer of "It cannot be confirmed at this time", the internet went full Chernobyl. News networks hammered the story while crazed theories that now held some form of merit spread like wildfire.

Over the course of the week, another three cargo ships had been struck. The Navy and many other nations were hesitant to try to hunt down the aliens to in act retribution due to the crippling effects they had on modern naval strategies.

Thankfully there was some good news to be had. The squadron had finished its time in the dry dock and the crews had been brought back up to full strength. Now they needed to wait the final day for the transport ship to arrive and the alien vessel to be loaded.

Amos sighed as he stepped out of the shower and dressed. The stress of waiting was always the worst. When the Perry had been stationed in Kuwait he had talked to some of the marines who had been serving in Afghanistan. They had said the stress of waiting and sitting around had been enormous, and that they actually preferred combat over waiting because at least then they could see and shoot at the enemy.

At the time, the idea that one would prefer active combat to sitting on a base relaxing was confusing. Why would anyone want to be getting shot at rather than sitting around with one's brothers?

Now, it made sense. In combat, you knew where the enemy was and what they were doing, at least in a general sense. Waiting on a base, however, you knew nothing. You didn't know if and when the enemy would strike. You didn't know where the enemy was or what they could be up to. All you could do was try to relax to keep from stressing out but at the same time be on guard in case of an enemy attack.

It was little wonder that so many service men and women had developed issues overseas and struggled to adjust to civilian life.

 _Nothing I or anyone can really do till the transport arrives_. Amos shook his head as he stepped into the base's headquarters. He printed off the documents and other such papers needed for the day and stepped into the room that he and Emerson had been given to use.

He noted that Emerson was not at his desk yet and smiled. _Perfect_.

Walking quickly to his desk, he sat down to begin some of the forms that need to be signed. A little revenge was in order. He worked quickly to fill the forms partially, enough to show he had done part of it but left enough to show his displeasure.

Just as he finished up the papers, Amos heard footsteps stopping outside the door and Emerson's voice on the other side.

"Alright, talk to you later mat."

Amos stood up and walking over to Emerson's desk, timing it just as Emerson opened the door.

"Ah, good to see you, Captain. I've got forms that you need to fill out this morning." Both his voice and smile were as sweet and innocent as a rowdy teenager getting revenge on their parent.

Emerson's expression seemed to struggle on which emotion was more dominant. Flipping between annoyance, resignation, and amusement.

"Oh, thank you, Amos, I'm sure you've done all the work you could on them." His tone was as flat as his expression had become as he perused through the papers that had been stacked on his desk.

"Of course, I filled what was need from my end. I could have filled some of your parts, but I felt that you, being the experienced Captain that you are, could easily fill them out without a problem."

Emerson gave a flat smile. "Petty revenge is still petty."

"Why Captain, I have no idea what you talking about," Amos exclaimed as he fanned an overblown expression of shock.

Emerson's expression softened. "You know why I did it right?"

Amos sighed as he leaned back against his desk. "Yeah, yeah I do. You'd have needed to be blind to not spot the mood."

Emerson let out a quiet chuckle "You always could cheer the men up with that voice of yours."

He smiled back "You know it. That pub was packed to the gills and out onto the street by the time we left."

Emerson frowned in annoyance. "So, if you already know why I cornered you into singing, then why the petty revenge?"

Amos smirked as he pushed off the desk and made his way towards the door. "Just because what you did was needed and a positive thing, doesn't mean that you didn't annoy me while doing it. And besides, you should be happy."

"Oh, thank you, gracious sir. For what should I be happy about?" Emerson's drawled in annoyance.

As he opened the door, Amos turned back to Emerson and gave a rather vicious smirk. "Well, I could have left the entirety of the paperwork blank for you to fill. Or I could have claimed that you volunteered to help the secretary to do extra work."

He noticed that Emerson's face had taken on a whiter shade at the thought of even more paper as he closed the door.

/-/

 **5/18/2020 – 1:03 PM**

 **National Defense Academy, Yokosuka, Japan**

There were many things that teachers like to do when not in class. Prepare for the next class, anticipating the next chance to educate others on whatever subject they taught or talking with their fellow teachers about how their day was going. Most would likely not put grading assignments very high on their list of things to do.

Kenshin found the activity a source of entertainment, reflection, and relaxation. The entertainment came from when students who clearly hadn't studied answers to questions and the interesting answers they came up with.

The relaxation could be found in the link between their performance and his teaching ability. If he taught well, then his student's scores should reflect.

And the relaxation the simple enjoyment of sitting down and grading the work. It took one's mind away from the problems of the world for a time. Problems like a potential alien invasion.

The thought of said alien invasion broke his concentration and Kenshin set his pen down with a sigh. The news of the attack on the 1st squadron had shaken him. When Amos had called him a week ago to suddenly reschedule their meetup he had been puzzled. When he asked what had come up, the only response he could get out of his friend had been "I can't say now, but you'll find out soon enough."

And but a day later, the president of the United States broadcasts live to the world that someone attacked their navy unprovoked and it might have been possibly aliens. The academy had yet to be quite since.

While many talked about what the aliens could possibly want to strategies for combating the hostiles. An equal amount of conversations he had overheard had been about what the aliens could look like, more specifically, what the females could look like.

Kenshin let out a quiet groan and massaged his head as he felt the onset of a headache. There were many a thing that annoyed him at times with his homeland. The overpacked trains, the rather eccentric culture they had developed, and the withdrawal men from society.

His great-grandfather had told him about how life used to be during his time. Where men actually had a backbone and served the country with honor. Now they could hardly get the academy more than seventy percent capacity.

While many of his fellow countrymen didn't like the build-up in military spending, he believed it was what the country needed to get their spine back.

Kenshin felt an ironic smile creep across his face. The buildup of forces that were to be used against China, were now likely going to be used to help China fight off an alien invasion.

Glancing at his watch, he figured that he could grab a quick lunch before getting back to grading.

A few of his students greeted him as they made their way to their classes. The weather was pleasant and the students were enjoying the nice weather, sitting out on benches enjoying the sun after the past few days of clouds.

After grabbing his lunch, he made his way to the teacher's lounge. The café was nice, but the chairs were far comfier in the lounge. Upon entering, he spotted his only friend in the academy, one professor Kiyoshi.

The man glanced up from his lunch as Kenshin sat down across from him. "Ah, greetings Kenshin. How is you grading coming along?"

"Greetings Kiyoshi, well thank you. A few amusing answers from those who are in need of increasing their study time, but otherwise the grades have turned out well overall." He replayed smiling as he dug into his meal.

"That is good, much better than my own. They have not always been the most focused, and with the news of aliens, their attention to lecture as greatly fallen off."

Kenshin sighed. "I too have noticed a rather large drop in attention in class since the announcement. I only fear it will only worsen as the situation progresses. The first two attacks cannot be the only ones that will happen."

Kiyoshi grunted. "Agree. This is merely the opening stages, they're merely poking us right now. My worry lies in the way they are carrying it out. They have exposed themselves and yet they have not capitalized on their advantages in technology, nor have they tried to captured strategic locations for operations."

"Not only that, but they only attack a few ships over the past two odd weeks. If they were trying to cut off the flow of trade, they would be attacking far more ships."

"I would question if they had enough forces to cover the ocean, but then why invade if they did not. No civilization capable of long-distance space travel would be so incompetent when it comes to war."

Kenshin's darkened as he nodded in agreement. "They obviously have a greater level of technology, the element of surprise, likely have superior numbers and the capability of space travel. Yet they throw away the surprise, don't capitalize on their numbers, spacefaring capabilities, or the gap in technology."

Kiyoshi grunted in agreement once again. "That only leaves one question for me."

It didn't take Kenshin much to guess the question. "What exactly is their goal."

* * *

 **5/19/2020 – 6:48 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

Every person had what they thought life was worth living for. Some people it's love, for others it's family and friends. For Richard Eagle, however, it was flying. The ability to do what man should not be able to do, the thrill of lift-off.

Man was meant to conquer, the sky was no longer the limit, merely a new place for them to rule. The feeling of flying always thrilled him to the core and took every chance to do so that he could.

So, when a call for volunteers came around to patrol the skies around the strike group, Richard jumped on it. Most pilots hated sitting in a cockpit for hours waiting for something that had the potential to not happen, but he couldn't care less. As long as it involved a plane and a chance to fly, he was golden.

Normally a sky patrol would be unneeded due to radar. But with the aliens running around with tech that made them invisible to said radar, the brass wasn't taking chances with the strike group or the captured alien vessel.

The group was meeting up with the 1st squadron half way between Yokosuka and Guam. And so here he was on his third patrol rotation of the day flying at fifty thousand feet above the waves. The captured alien had been loaded yesterday and was about twenty minutes out.

 _It's been quiet all day. You'd think they would want their thing back._ Richard glanced out of the right side of the cockpit as he banked to the left and did a double take. Far below he could just barely make out something on the ocean waves below.

Banking back to the right, he brought his altitude down so he could get a better look. Switching on his com, he radioed the George Washington to ask to see if they had the ships on radar. Except the only thing that he got was static.

Richard's suspicion was only confirmed when he reached twenty thousand feet. The shapes below were far too small to be ships and were in a two-line formation. In combination with his coms suddenly not working despite working not twenty minutes ago, there was no doubt in his mind what these vessels were.

An idea struck him as he passed over them. As he turned around to pass over them again, he quickly gauged their speed before ramping up his own to a set speed. He checked his coms after reaching five miles from the aliens, coms still not responding. Six, still no response, seven, static, eight gave him static, nine earned a similar result.

At ten miles out, Richard's coms sparked to life. "Go ahead Steadfast-1."

"Washington, confirmed sighting of alien forces inbound. I repeat, confirmed sighting of alien forces inbound."

There was a pause before the response came back. "Roger that Steadfast. Rerouting current birds to your location."

"Copy that, Washington. Also, I've done some testing on the distance of their com jammer and it seems to be about ten miles out."

"Well, there's a bit of good news. Solid copy Steadfast-1."

As Richard brought his F-35 back around, he angled it down towards the alien vessels. "Washington, requesting permission to engage."

"Copy that Steadfast-1, you are clear to engage."

 **Fin**


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeah, I kind of forgot to put an A/N at the end of the last chapter so I can't really make the "I bet no one say the alien thing coming" joke. Which is too bad because I was really looking forward to using that one. Sorry for the slow uploads, I've got two summer classes to keep me a bit busy.**

 **Also, I've not been writing scripts for the chapters ahead of time, just letting the story flow as it comes to me which I'm pretty sure has been damaging my writing. So that's going to change because my god does it show when I'm trying to write and I've got no real clue on how the scene is going to play out.**

 **I don't own Kantai Collection. Kantai Collection owned by Kadokawa Games and is published by please don't sue my poor ass.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Escort's Duty**

 **5/19/2020 – 6:53 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

It had been a pleasant day; the late afternoon sun was shining and a calm breeze flowed through the open doors of the bridge. Amos liked this part of his job, standing on the bridge and watching the ocean drift by. The mixture of ocean waves and quite bridge chatter created a needed sense of calm. The last day and a half had been a mix of quiet peace and silent tension which had left many on edge. The alien vessel had been loaded without incident and nothing had happened as they made their way to the meeting point.

Everyone knew that something was going to happen, it simply had to. The lack of immediate action by the aliens had left them waiting, and Amos hated the waiting game. It gave him an unscratchable itch. A desire to do something but with nothing to do.

"Captain on deck." called the Ensign as he and the rest of the bridge snapped to salute position.

Emerson returned that salute and called at ease. "Anything new happens since I left."

Amos shook his head. "Nothing to-."

At that moment, the radio crackled to life. "Strike group one to 1st squadron, strike group one to 1st squadron. This is the U.S.S. George Washington, come in 1st squadron."

Amos and Emerson glanced at each other as the radio man picked up the receiver. "Strike group one, this the U.S.S. Perry of squadron one. What is it."

"Alien forces sighted. Twenty hostiles inbound to meet up point, they're fifteen minutes out."

Emerson looked as though he was fighting a sigh and nodded at the radio man. "Copy that strike group, we'll relay to the rest of the squadron."

Emerson shot a glance back over to him and he nodded. He understood the glance and quickly made his way over to the ship's p.a. system. "Attention, all hands to general quarters, all hands to general quarters."

 **/-/**

"Copy that Steadfast-1, you are clear to engage."

Richard grinned as once again his comms went dead. It was time to show these aliens why giving air superiority to humans was a bad idea. From what he had heard about these things prior to the mission, his targeting system wouldn't be able to lock on. This left him with two options, get in close enough to lead a missile, or get in even closer and try to use his 25 mm cannon.

"Well, as the say goes, 'live fast, die young'." Richard chuckled as he angled left. When he about parallel to them, he swung back right so he could come in on the alien's flank. Even at five thousand feet, their vessels were too small for him to get a proper shot off with any level accuracy.

 _Time for two deployments of close air support to pay off_. Just before passing over the closet one, he plunged the nose of the plane down into a screaming sixty-five-degree dive. The two years he had spent in Afghanistan had forced him to learn how to hit small moving targets. That experience proved its worth as he lined up with the third vessel in the first row and squeezed the fire button on his stick.

The bomb bay doors beneath his plane opened and the missile dropped. In under a second, the Maverick E2/L accelerated from 0 to 714 mph. The missile raced towards the vessel as Richard pulled out of his dive at seventeen hundred feet above the ocean. Thanks to the F-35's helmet, he was able to look behind him to see his handy work.

The missile had struck in the middle of its back and had blown a sizable hole in its port side. While admiring his handy work, he almost missed the fact that one of the others vessels had its head pointed at him. Richard's instincts screamed at him as he slammed his stick to the left as something flew past his window. The boom of a naval gun followed shortly after as he pulled the stick into his stomach. His F-35 climbed in altitude as the sounds of naval guns firing droned out even his jet's engines.

He didn't know too much about naval guns and the alien vessels couldn't have been packing too heavy considering their size, but he wasn't taking any chances. Richard continued to climb until he reached fifteen thousand feet. Even at the high altitude, he could still see a small smoke trail rising up from the ocean.

At this point, he only had a few options. His plane had the loadout for long-range reconnaissance, limiting his craft to whatever could fit inside of the bomb bay. He still had one Maverick in the bay, and he knew where the enemy was. He could either try to get off one more shot before retreating, wait around till the reinforcements showed up, or return to the carrier. The aliens already knew he was there and would likely be waiting for him to attack again.

Checking his fuel gauge showed that he had sixty-five percent left. He could easily hang around for another two hours minimum before he would need to head back. The problem was the carrier couldn't track him to his location due to the satellite jammer and the other pilots would only have a rough knowledge of where the enemy was. It could be twenty minutes or more before they showed up and the first squadron was less than ten minutes out.

The battle between the transport group and the aliens was unavoidable by this point. The only thing that he could do now as try and swing it in their favor. Richard stopped circling and pushed the stick forward as he pointed his craft towards the black smoke of the wounded craft, determined to finish what he started.

He had been correct in believing the aliens would be ready for him as flak erupted around him at ten thousand feet. At five thousand the dots began to take shape, they were no longer in their line formation and were now in defensive maneuvers. At four thousand the flak became ticker, he roared past three thousand as he fingered the release button. He twitched to the left and right, weaving through the dark puffs of flak rising to meet his dive. He pushed past two thousand, determined to sink the wounded vessel. He let out a quick burst of 25 mm to confirm he was still aiming straight throughout the weaving. At fifteen hundred feet he hit the release button on the second missile and pulled out of the dive.

His body began to increase in weight as he pulled up on the stick to avoid colliding with the ocean. He had experienced Gs before in both practices and in Afghanistan. But those were in either controlled or low threat scenarios. He had increased his speed to three hundred to try and throw off the alien's aim and combined with the low altitude that he was now pulling up from at high speed, he experienced a g-force greater then he had ever felt before.

His whole body was pulled back into his seat. It was difficult to breathe as he struggled to find the strength to breathe. His arms felt like someone had attracted two hundred pounds of lead to them and the edge of his vision began to darken.

As he leveled out, the strain and pressure began to reduce. He let out a breath now that he could breathe again. He as he looked behind, he managed to glimpse the sinking body of the vessel he had hit. It was on its side and sinking fast. From what he could see, most of its face was gone and the hole on its side was taking on water. He was reasonably sure that counted as a kill.

His second to relax ended was as once again flak filled the air around him. Richard cursed himself for losing focus in the middle of combat. He reached forward flicked the red cover off of a switch on the front console.

"This is where the fun begins." He grinned as he flicked the switch. He only had a second to brace before he was once again forced against his seat as his jet's afterburners kicked in. His speedometer which had been sitting around 300 mph, jumped to 400 mph in an instant and continued to climb. Ten seconds later, he heard the signature boom as his plane broke the sound barrier. The flak all but vanished as he was now out racing the rounds being fired at him.

He switched off the afterburn and pulled his altitude up ten thousand feet as he continued to make his way out of the jammer range. Eventually, his comms sparked back to life as he breached the ten-mile mark.

"Steadfast-1, come in Steadfast-1. What is your status?"

"Just fine Wash. One alien down, nineteen to go. I'm out of Mavericks and I'm coming on back to restock."

"Copy that Steadfast-1. Air squadrons 2 and 4 are on their way to make their runs."

"Copy Wash. Steadfast-1 over and out."

* * *

 **5/19/2020 – 6:68 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

The situation post-alien reveal left Amos with both a growing sense of restlessness and amusement. After the call for general quarters, helicopters had been launched to give the squadron an early warning as to where the aliens would be coming from. Then, all the squadron could do was wait. Everyone on the bridge had waited at their battle station at the ready, but one could have heard a pin drop as they all tried to listen to the comm chatter as though it were it was the final inning of a baseball game heard over the radio.

Without a direct link to the carrier, they could only wait for news to be given to them. The first five minutes after the initial message, they received the news that one alien vessel had already been sunk. The news brought a little relieve seeing as they were still outnumbered more than three to one. It did, however, give them a little pride in their flyboys that they were softening up the aliens for them.

Another five minutes passed before they again heard anything related to the battle, though the second time it didn't come over the radio. One of the helicopters hanging over the convoy had spotted jets on the horizon to the east. All guns had been pointed in said direction.

It had only taken a mere three minutes from the sighting for the bridge crew to gain visual sight. One could make out the faint outlines of jets in the distant, accompanied by the far-off sounds of explosions. Small pillars of dark smoke could also be seen coming up from the ocean.

As time ticked by, the battle drew closer. The sounds of jets grew from faint far-off sounds too loud roars as they raced overhead before making a wide sweep before heading back to rejoin the fray. The pillars of black smoke which had once been no larger than an inch on the horizon were now larger than his pinky and were growing.

A flash in the sky caught his attention. Grabbing a pair of binoculars, Amos looked to the rough position that he had seen the flash. He could make out what had once been an F-18, now a plane cleaved in twain and its' front half doing high-speed front flips in their direction.

"Five degrees to starboard, helm" He called as he put the binoculars down.

The helmsman looked a bit puzzled but did as he was asked. His unanswered question was answered as the front half of the jet crashed into the ocean three hundred yards off their port side.

"Bastards" growled one the sailors.

Amos couldn't agree more, and the sentiment was mirrored by everyone else on the bridge. They steeled themselves as the comms became active once again. The circling helicopters had a clear visual of the alien interception force. Of the thirteen alien ships remaining, two were currently damaged.

"Damn, we're going to have to take a load of those flyboys backs, they're carrying this fight for us right now."

"No kidding."

Emerson picked up the ship's radio transponder "All ships, move to engage the aliens. Keep them off the cargo ship."

The Perry broke from its former path and pointed its bow towards the oncoming aliens. Both the Ramage and O'Hare copied the Perry's movements while the Bendfold and the Hopper swung around to the north.

"Fire when ready."

The Perry's five gun opened the squadron's thunderous song. She was soon joined by her sister ships who added their own sounds to the song of battle. While they could not hear the sounds of the rounds missing into the water due to no radar guidance, the sounds of the alien's return fire hitting the water filled it in nicely. The jets flying overhead only added to the orchestra with their roaring engines and explosive warheads. It was somewhat beautiful against the setting sun, in a morbid sort of way.

The deadly dance continued to escalate for ten minutes as the squadron danced and weaved to avoid the alien fire while their gunnery officers tried their best to hit moving targets while in evasive maneuvers. Their goal was to close in enough as to be able to effectively use the ship's five-inch cam to effectively aim.

"Hard to starboard." Amos braced himself on a console as the ship made the hard right. The explosion from the near miss threw water across the bridge's windows.

"Damn, that was a close" a sailor started before the sound of tearing metal came from above them.

"What was that?" asked another in a worried tone.

Not even a second after the question was asked, the sound of groaning metal came from above and was quickly followed by the ship's radar mast crashed onto the bridge. The sound of crashing metal was deafening as the roof caved inward, straining to hold the weight of the mast.

"We've lost radar, sir."

"Well, no shit Sherlock" came the sarcastic reply from another.

"That also took out our radio sir."

"Well, that's a problem. How are we supposed to tell the others how they keep missing?"

"We could always just flash them."

"No, no, we haven't set the flags up yet. There's no way they could know that we're flash them, they'd miss out on what we're flashing at them."

Amos ignored the chatter and looked over to Emerson who was calmly looking at the front left corner of the bridge when the mast had hit. The ceiling had caved about three feet but it didn't look like it was going to cave further. Emerson took in the current situation. two of the undamaged and one damaged alien vessel had been sunk, with a further three having been damaged since the start of the battle.

"What is our course of action, sir?" He asked pulling Emerson from his thoughts.

"As of now, we're still in the fight. Other than the loss of our radar and the loss of our radio, we've not taken any major damage. Our gun can still be aimed with the cam."

He nodded and turned to look out the bridge's windows when he felt a wave of intense heat and a flash of light before everything went to black.

/-/

Throughout history, one could find stories of armies and navies standing against foes larger and more numerous than themselves. Tales of how they outwitted, outmaneuvered, or just got lucky in some way that allowed them to win. The thing about those battles was that they had armies or fleets to work with. All the first squadron had at the moment was five ships and twenty jets, none of who were able to fully use all of their equipment due to alien tech. There was the silver lining in that strike group on their way, but they had no clue how long until they arrived.

To make matters worse, the aliens weren't after them, they were after the cargo ship. A large, slow-moving cargo ship that made one hell of an easy target and it sitting right in the middle of a battle. Barrett was loathed to take an overly aggressive advance towards the aliens but he had little choice. Without radar, they couldn't sit back and use Tomahawk cruise missiles. The lack of radar also prevented them from using it to properly aim their five-incher.

Even with the flyboys above them giving the aliens a hard time, there were twice as many aliens compared to the 1st squadron. Even though the aliens could only take a single hit to the face, their small size made it a challenge to land a hit.

Barrett's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an explosion. He initially ignored it in favor of focusing on the battle, hoping that an alien had been sunk. His hope was crush when one of his lookouts let out a short string of curses.

"Fucking damn it. The Perry took a hit to the bridge."

Barrett forced down a growing sense of dread. As much as he wanted to go help the Perry and her crew, he couldn't justify it. He couldn't take a second ship out of the fight and make the O'Hare a second sitting duck. All he could do now was focus on the battle and try to keep the aliens from sinking both the Perry and the cargo ship.

/-/

Amos jolted awake as a loud bang accompanied by the shaking of the ground. Upon awakening, his head promptly informed him that it was in a great deal of pain.

The back of his skull felt wet for some odd reason. He couldn't really hear anything either. The silence was kind of nice when compared to earlier. Huh, what had he been doing earlier, he couldn't remember. The pain was interfering with his thought process, agonizing pain tended to make thinking difficult. His mouth tasted like copper for an odd reason, normally after a hangover, his mouth tasted of like alcohol and was drier than a desert.

When he cracked open his right eye, he was forced to shut it as the blinding light made his eye hurt. When he moved his arm to shield his eye from the light, he discovered that the pain was in more than just his head. His back and arm throbbed as he moved it. Eventually, he was able to shield his eye enough to where he could open it without too much pain.

Rolling himself onto his side was a major undertaking. His mussels complained the entire time and his skull had decided that it was going to show him a whole new level of pain. His vision swam and faded in and out. The edge of his vision was this puzzling black fuzz that made it difficult to look around.

God, just how bad had he and the band gotten drunk? Amos had been piss drunk before, but not so bad that his vision was on the verge of having its own blackout. Looking over, he saw Eddie Bauer, the radio operator, laying on the floor. The young man was on his first tour with the navy, having just joined three months back. When had he joined them for drinks?

Crawling over to the kid, Amos gently shook him. His voice didn't want to work, his throat was dry and his jaw felt like it was out of line but he forced his voice out is a raspy kind of whisper. "Hey, hey Eddy. Wake up, man."

Eddy did not wake up or even give a signal that he had heard him. "Come on Eddy, we're going to be in deep shit if Emerson finds us like this. I know he's lenient, but he won't tolerate us being this drunk."

Again, Eddy didn't respond. "Huh, didn't know he was such a deep sleeper." Taking a second to glance around, he noticed that there was something on fire. _The hell did we do, that's the first time we've ever set anything on fire while drunk. Wonder who the hidden pyro is._ The light from the fire hurt his eyes, but he forced himself to not shut them.

Looking back at Eddy again, Amos noticed that his eyes were wide open. "Oh hey, you're awake, good. Someone set something on fire and I feel like I've been keelhauled. What do you remember." His throat began to protest at the extended use. He tried to swallow to try and dampen it, but his mouth was equally dry.

For some strange reason, Eddy continued to ignore him in favor of staring at the ceiling. Annoyed that he was being ignored, Amos reached over to shake his shoulder when his hand brushed something metal. "Hey, I see you got a neck piercing, you're a braver man than I to get such a thing." He paused and frowned for a second which informed him that his jaw was also sore. "Though I don't think you'll be allowed to keep it, against protocol or something."

While taking a second to inspect Eddy's new piercing, he noticed that it had a rather odd coloring and pattern. It was blood red and with no distinct pattern, kind of like the paint was just haphazardly sprayed onto it.

"I don't know who your artist is, but you really shouldn't go back to them, they did a terrible job on this." He gave a raspy chuckle as his throat protested the action.

Eddy ignored his jabs and focused solely on the ceiling. Feeling rather annoyed at the continued lack of acknowledgment, he reached over to grab Eddy's face. When his hand grasped Eddy's face, instead of feeling the warmth of flesh, all he felt was cold skin. That wasn't right, the skin shouldn't feel cold, so why was Eddy's so cold.

Propping himself up on his knees, he looked down at the man. His body protested the action heavily, but he ignored the pain and tried to focus on the man. Eddy wasn't just not responding, he didn't seem to be moving at all. The stillness was, unnatural, even if someone was unconscious. The stillness, he had seen it only twice before. Once when his great-grandfather had died at age ten and when his grandmother passed away two years ago.

Amos froze as his brain's gears finally began to turn once again. Eddy had never been apart of his drinking group, the neck piercing was going through the neck, there were fires burning behind him, that dead look in Eddy's eyes, that stillness. Oh god, that stillness. It was wrong, just so wrong, people shouldn't be able to be that still. Looking behind him to see if there was anyone else, he paused to wonder how he had missed the gaping hole in the side of the wall.

It wasn't a door or a window, no, it was definitely a hole. The blackened metal, the jagged pieces that were still hanging from where they had stood. He could see black smoke billowing up from below the hole. He noticed other men slowly standing and coughing from the smoke. Then he noticed the room itself, it wasn't a bedroom or a barracks, it was the Perry's bridge. What in blazes were they doing on the Perry's bridge, for that matter, why was it on fire with a fucking twenty-foot hole in the side of it.

Then it all clicked. The flash, the heat, him falling backward and striking his head. The pain he was feeling wasn't from a hangover from the heaviest drinking binge he had ever had in his life. The bridge had taken a direct hit on its left side. Amos dumbly looked back over to Eddy, no, his corpse. Laying flat on his back with a shard of metal was logged through his throat.

The noise, what had once been a kind of dull roar in the background now came into focus. Oh, how he wished it hadn't. The screams of pain, the cries for help, the battle still raging on around the ship, oh how he wished it would all go away. The smell was just as bad. The smell of iron and smoke, the smell of death. It was all too much all at once. So, his body decided to 'aid' in the coping process by unloading the content of the stomach all over the floor.

It was hardly a heroic or brave action to do in the middle of combat but sue him. he had never experienced death like this. A calm and peaceful death yes, a violent death with blood like this, no.

After successfully vacating the space in his stomach, Amos stumbled upright. His head began to swim and he suddenly became aware of numerous cuts and bruises that riddled his upper body but pushed through it. There had to be something he could do, there were others still alive, sailors who needed help. By this point, medics, as well as other sailors, had arrived and set about helping those who needed it. Attempting to make his way over only had him stumbling.

He noticed that the gunnery console was still functional. There were far too many buttons for him to even begin to understand what the meant, but it did have a little joystick. The screen hurt to look at, but he was already ignoring a large amount of pain, what was a little more pain to add to it. Grabbing the stick, he pivoted the turret until he found a target.

The first he found was an undamaged alien that was firing at something he couldn't see. Giving a grin, Amos couldn't help but chuckle. "Turnabout is fair play."

The Perry may have been struck hard, but her gun still worked just fine. The five-inch gun fired a single round straight through the alien's head which exploded in a rather satisfying fashion.

"That was for blindsiding us, asshole," Amos growled at the screen. Though he took great pleasure in watching the alien vessel sink, the pain was starting to become too much. Turning away from the monitor, he saw a medic break away from Eddy's corpse and approach him. The medic's voice seemed muffled and he couldn't quite hear what the medic was saying. His body felt tired and all he wanted to do now as take a nap.

He tried putting a hand out to ease himself down but his arm gave out and he fell forwards. Thankfully the medic caught him, but the man's voice was loud which made drifting off difficult.

"Could you quiet down man, you're so loud. While you're at it could you dim the lights, it too bright in here. How's a man supposed to take a nap." Amos groaned as he was lowered down to the floor.

Unfortunately, the medic didn't go and turn down the lights, nor did he at least have the decency to be quite as he started to rap his midsection and head. The medic continued to engage him and snapped his fingers under his nose whenever he tried to doze off. His hearing still wasn't working the best because all he heard from the man was adult voices from the Charlie Brown cartoon. At least the volume had dropped to a tolerable level.

Eventually, the medic finished with him and waved over two others with a stretcher. Looking between them, Amos glanced at the medic. "Am I allowed to sleep now?"

The man rolled his eyes and pointed at the stretcher. He grumbled and rolled onto the stretcher when it was placed on the ground. As soon as he finished getting on, he passed out. Damn what the medic says otherwise, he needed his sleep.

/-/

Barrett blinked as one the alien vessel that they had been dueling suddenly had its face spontaneously relocated in twenty different directions in an equal number of pieces. No jet roared overhead to claim the kill, and all the other members of the squadron were busy attempting to keep off the cargo ship.

"Looks like Emerson and others are still kicking." One of the lookouts called pointing towards the Perry.

After the hit on the bridge, the ship had been doing a slow arch to port. It hadn't taken long for the aliens long to take advantage of that. A second shell had stuck below the bridge in the crew quarters and blown a second hole open on the ship. Smoke was still billowing across her front section from the two hits.

It took more than two hits to bring the Perry and her crew down. Not five minutes since taking the first hit and she was already back up and fighting. Even in the fading twilight, Barrett could see the Perry breaking from her drift and starting up evasive maneuvers. Her five-inch gun once again adding to the sounds of battle.

It was a welcome sight in the chaotic battle where the odds were still not in their favor. While they had managed to sink another enemy vessel, the 1st squadron had not escaped unscathed. The Hopper had received a strike to her mid-section below the water line and had taken on water.

A voiced called over the detonation of another alien. "Sir, four signatures on radar. Looks like the cavalry has arrived."

Just then the radio crackled to life. "Strike group one to 1st squadron, looks like you could use some backup. Watch your heads, we're coming in from the north."

Barrett could help but grin as his men cheered. while the aliens still outnumbered them with the ships, the air support more than tipped the scales in their favor. Unfortunately, the aliens seemed to realize this as well.

The ten remaining alien vessels ditched any attempt to sink the destroyers or desire to live and made a beeline for the cargo ship. Barrett let out a silent curse and ordered the O'Hare on an intercept course to try and get ahead of the aliens.

The cargo ship, which up until this point in the battle had managed to stay relatively damaged, was now getting the full attention of the aliens. Numerous explosion erupted around the ship as it desperately tried to maneuver out of the way of the incoming shells. The cargo ship lit up in the dying light of the twilight as several of the shells hit the starboard side of the ship.

It was a race against the other to see who could achieve their objective first. In the aliens' mad dash for the cargo ship, they gave up all attempts to dodge incoming fire, making them easy targets. It almost turned into a too easy as the aliens rushed past the squadron, some within even a mile of the ships. The O'Hare alone claimed two within a span of four minutes. Barrett almost felt embarrassed participating.

By the end of the turkey shoot, the cargo ship was doing its best impression of swiss cheese but was still afloat amazingly. The squadron better off than their first run in with the aliens, but they hadn't managed to come out unscratched. The Perry with a new front entrance and a felled radar tower, the Hopper had a hole in her side, and the Ramage once again had her bow pierced by a shell.

"Perry to 1st squadron. Reform on the transport."

Barrett called to the helm to make for escort position and told his XO that he had the bridge while heading towards the door. With things calming down his presence was not needed until they reached Yokosuka.

The past two weeks had held more action then he had seen in over nine years of service. He was looking forward to the rest after the mission. Just as he opened the bridge door, the thundering detonations sounded from outside of the ship.

Rushing back to the window, Barrett was just in time to watch the cargo ship begin to list to the side as the water sprays from the three explosions covered the ship.

 **Fin.**

 **A/N**

 **You might have noticed that this chapter is shorter than the other chapters. As I mentioned in the to A/N, I've kind have been freewheeling it when writing the story so far and I'm not happy with how I've been writing due to that. I was struggling far more with this chapter than I should have due to that fact.**

 **I've also have been meaning to ask your guy's opinions on the length of the chapters. If I make them roughly 5,000 or more, I can put them out faster. But if I do the 7,000 length ones, I can give you guys more to read each time I put out a chapter. Leave your thoughts in the reviews or just PM, I'll respond when I get the time.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:**

 **Okay, a reader by the name of** **Uike4** **has helpfully pointed out that I've made some major errors when it comes to some of the characters ages and rank. He's also helped greatly with editing and making corrections so shout out to him. I'll be fixing the old chapters so hopefully, this won't be too confusing.**

 **So here are the issues that have been corrected. Nickolas Amos needs to be a Lieutenant Commander to be an executive officer of a ship. So, any further reference to Amos by rank is going to be Commander.**

 **Walter Cavan is moving up in age but keeping his young appearance. Cavan is now 34 to match his rank which has been corrected to Master Chief. I'm not surprised that Quarter Master isn't really an actual rank.**

 **Another correction will be with Nate Barrett. He's still the same age and does still captain the O'Hare, but he isn't the rank of Captain (0-6). Instead, he is the rank of Commander (0-5) and is also going to be referred to as Commander. God, I hope this won't be too confusing.**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Who Hunts Who**

 **5/19/2020 – 7:27 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

 _Would it be too much to ask for reality to allow a break? Because I think at the speed we're going, someone is going to break a neck._ Emerson repressed a groan to exasperation as the spray of the explosions covered the cargo ship.

"Where in the hell did those explosions come from!" yelled one of the bridge crew as the cargo ship began to list to its port side.

Emerson grabbed the radio microphone and switched the settings to squadron wide, before letting out a curse as his memory caught up with reflex. The radio's antenna that would have been used to transmit his message was currently resting on the roof of the bridge that it had caved in.

"Damn it. How long until we have a working radio."

"Damage control got a radio up and working, but it can't reach the entire squadron."

"It's good enough. Connected me to the Hopper, I'll give Captain Holden the orders to relay."

While the man adjusted the radio, Emerson briefly considered the situation and potential options. He knew that there was a submarine in play but lacked any information on it. They hardly knew much about the alien surface ships, let alone the alien wolfpacks.

Glancing out the hole in the bridge, he could see the cargo ship was barely managing to stay above the water and would go under without assistance. They needed to get the cargo back to Japan to study otherwise the no one would have any clue as to how the things worked.

"All set Captain." The man handed him the speaker.

The radio crackled slightly as a voice came over it. "Good to hear from you, Taylor. Captain Barrett and Captain Adams are both moving to support the cargo ship as we speak."

Emerson nodded despite Vere inability to see him. "Good, I want all ships to launch all air units in search of the enemy sub. We can not risk having a sub-hunting us the entire trip back. All ships not assisting the transport vessel is to begin search and destroy actions using anti-submarine maneuvers."

"Understood, the orders will be relayed to the others."

With that done, Emerson ordered his own crew to begin their own anti-submarine maneuvers. The sound of a helicopter spinning up sounded from the rear of the ship even as he continued to issue out orders.

Even though the darkening twilight, he could still make out the O'Hare and the Bendfold pull along the cargo give aid. The spotlights from the helicopters swept across the calm waves of the ocean in search of the alien sub.

Sub hunting at the best of times was tricky. Modern technology allowed torpedoes to be steered with a wire and aimed with advanced sonar. The alien sub could be as far back as four miles or as close in as one. Since the cargo ship was listing to port, they knew the general direction of the sub which narrowed down the area they had to search.

However, it had been at least three minutes since the torpedoes hitting the ship, and the helicopters only had launched. Plenty of time for the sub to have moved from its initial spot. There was also the issue of detection. They couldn't even detect the surface craft. The only way that they were going to find the alien sub was to hope it used a periscope to aim so they could see its shadow in the water.

Glancing to the cargo ship, Emerson switched the radio to the Bendfold's frequency. "Bendfold, what's the status of the transport?"

"Unsure at the best. Those last hits ruptured several holes in its side and it's taking on water fast. The pumps on the ships are working overtime just to keep it from capsizing, we don't know how much longer the pumps can keep it up."

Emerson took a second to digest the information. The transport was hardly holding with support and there was an enemy sub in the water. Staying stationary was not an option.

"Understood Bendfold, keep it floating till we get the cargo out of the hold. Perry out."

Once again switching the radio's frequency, he contacted the Perry's helicopter to return to pick up the ship's boarding squadron. Once that was done, he turned from the radio and grabbed the ship's intercom. He ordered the boarding squad to meet on the helipad and for flotation devices to be prepared.

Since Amos was out of commission, for the time being, Emerson relayed his orders through one of the sailors that were on the bridge. With that done, there wasn't much he could do other than watch as the helicopters circled above, hunting for the enemy sub.

 **/-/**

When Staff Sergeant Mitch originally signed up for the Marines, he knew that he would face combat, but never an actual war. He never thought that had been aliens either, but the past month had proven him wrong on both accounts.

He was commanding a boarding squad on a mission to board a sinking ship hit by an alien sub to prevent a captured alien vessel from being lost. Had someone told him two months ago that he would have such a mission, he would have chuckled at such a thing.

Mitch pushed aside any other thoughts as the helicopter neared the deck of the doomed ship.

"Alright, you all know the plan. Zack, secure the rope ladder down, Johnson, Mike, attach your device to the front left side of the container, Reilly and Arron back left while Garett and I will attach on the front right, Wells and Williams back left." He stood up from the bench as helicopter started to descend. "Once they're attached, everyone out and we'll signal the crews to stop the pumps to let the water in. Let's make this fast, they don't know how much longer the ship will hold together."

Everyone nodded in acknowledgment and stood. The doors were slid open and the squad descended the ropes onto the deck. It was oddly reminiscent of the last time he had to do so. The sounds of helicopter blades chopping the air, the cool ocean's breeze on his skin. He could see the searchlights for the other birds, a reminder that the night wasn't as peaceful as it looked. He and the rest of the squad quickly moved along the side of the ship as the sounds of groaning metal and rushing water grew louder.

The operation as a whole wasn't too difficult. Attach a rope ladder to the side and lower the devices down by rope and have two people at the bottom to detach them from the rope. The whole process was completed in under five minutes.

Just as they began to set up the devices, Mitch's radio buzzed. "Border 1, be advised, the ship's pumps have failed and the ship is now taking on more water than our pumps can handle. How far along are you."

"Beginning attachment of flotation devices now. Should be done in another four minutes till complete attachment and evacuation." Mitch replied as he and Garett began the setup.

"You might want to speed it up, the remaining two pumps can't handle much more before they give out." As if timed, the sounds of rushing water started to drift towards them from further down the ship.

"Understood, we'll pick up the pace" Mitch raised his voice so the whole squad heard "Double time boys, one of the pumps failed and the others won't hold much longer."

While the devices themselves were not terribly complicated to attach, they needed to take the extra second to ensure that nothing was going to malfunction before they left. By the time they finished, they were walking in a half-inch of water that was slowly rising.

They quickly made their way back on to the helicopter where Mitch radioed that they had cleared the area. Not thirty seconds had passed after the message had been received did water begin to rush into the hold. When the water was halfway up the crate, he hit the switch. Four large airbags burst up from the water around the crate, causing it to float atop the water as it rapidly rose up.

Mitch watch the cargo ship slowly sink as it took on more and more water. His mission was complete. Now all he could do was watch as everyone else did their part.

* * *

 **5/19/2020 – 8:41 PM**

 **Pacific Ocean**

They say practice makes perfect, but really all it does was make it permanent. And that was working both in favor and against Alden's mission of searching for the alien sub. On the one hand, they had practiced a similar of scenario multiple times in the past. Unfortunately, that practice applied to human submarines, not alien subs.

So here he sat circling his birds around for the second hour looking at the dark ocean waves. Out of boredom, he took a break from staring at the water to glance over to where the O'Hare was beginning to attach the container to the back of the ship.

It had taken almost an hour and a half for the cargo ship to sink low enough in the water that it was safe to pull up a ship to the container. They had had no further signs of the sub being in the area, but until they were underway, they were not going to let up the patrols.

Alden felt a mix of calm and unease with the situation. Calm that the battle was over and them rapping up the operation. Nervous because this was where things almost always went wrong in _over_.

Glancing back down at the ocean, again really made him regret thinking that last part. In his searchlight, a fast-moving ripple was racing below him towards the O'Hare.

"O'Hare, you need to move now! Torpedo inbound on your port side." Alden yelled into his radio as he swung around to try and keep the racing wave in his searchlight.

As the O'Hare lurched forwards, the torpedo surged towards it. As each second passed by with agonizing cruelty, Aiden counted down each one until the torpedo would hit the ship. Thankfully the maneuver worked and all the torpedo hit was the rudder with an explosion.

Even in the dark, Alden could see the explosion as it struck, seemingly lifting the O'Hare's rear end out of the water. The com chatter exploded as a flurry of commands were relayed. He directed the ships to the direction in which the torpedo had come from as he circled looking for the sub.

 **/-/**

Emerson forced down his growl of frustration as he watched the O'Hare's rear end buckle under the stress of the damage it sustained. This whole mission had gone pear-shaped and now it was only getting worse.

The squadron had severed more damage after having just left the dry docks and expensive equipment had been lost. The worst part had been the loss of life. While less than their first encounter, the loss would take a toll on the crew as men they had severed with would no longer be with them.

But now was not the time to morn, not now. He had a squadron to coordinate. Quickly ordering the Benfold pull the O'Hare, he then had the Mason from the strike group to pull the container. This removed three ships from patrolling for the sub as they moved instead of the one.

Once everything was set, he ordered to for the group to regroup with Strike Group 1 before moving onto Yokosuka. Emerson stayed on the bridge the rest of the night as they moved. A few of his men offered to take watch while he got some sleep, but he declined. He was pretty sure that the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn't have let him sleep anyways.

* * *

 **?/?/? - 00:00?**

 **?**

\- Analysis of confrontation in Northern Marianas -

\- Objective failed. All surface forces lost. Moderate damage to enemy vessels. One enemy F-18 shot down. One container cargo ship sunk. -

\- Enemy aircraft caused significant damage to surface force. Current anti-air capabilities of surface vessels, unacceptable. Present surface vessels are incapable of dealing with enemy air at the current time. –

\- Upgrades to existing vessels required. -

\- Surface vessel kill ratio stands at zero kills to twenty losses. -

\- Unacceptable statistic. -

\- Further upgrades to existing vessels required. -

\- Solutions required to fix the loss ratio? -

\- New class of surface vessel. -

\- Class? -

\- Dachmailes vessels. -

\- Orders confirmed. Beginning construction. -

\- Subsurface vessel performed exceptionally. Enemy unable to locate using standard equipment. Sunk container cargo ship, damaged one enemy surface ship before forced to withdraw. -

\- Acknowledged. Increase construction and begin standard strategic strategies. -

\- Orders confirmed. Executing orders. -

* * *

 **5/21/2020 - 6:30 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Rear Admiral Weston let out a quiet sigh as he sat down for what felt like the umpteenth meeting in the past two days, only this time he was the one who had called it. He had gathered the ship Captains of the 1st Destroyer Squadron and Strike Group One to so that he could get a better picture of what happened. He had been given a general report, but he wanted a clearer picture, as well as to pick their brains as to what happened and their thoughts.

As the meeting progressed, a number of things grabbed for his attention. Several questions developed in his mind, but he withheld them until the all the information was presented. Once the officers had completed their full report, Weston cleared his throat.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now that you've given your report, I want to pick your brains a bit. Seeing as you were there, did any of you notice something odd, anything that stuck out to you, or raised questions."

"Of course, sir."

"First up would be how did the aliens know where to find the transport. From how Captain Melville's piolets described it, the aliens were headed directly for the transport from the start."

"From what Director Haywood told us in meeting back on the 11th, it was already public knowledge what port we had pulled in after the initial engagement." "Emerson started "Photos of the damaged ships were all over the internet."

Weston quickly caught on, "So the aliens already knew what port they had to watch. The issue then becomes how were they tracking the squadron's movements so effectively. I mean unless they've breached out security, they shouldn't have known your exact location was so easy."

"As of right now," Haywood cut in smoothly, his tone made it sound as if they were discussing boring reports "we cannot detect their surface craft, and we know that the enemy now has submarines in its fleets. It is likely that a submarine was sent to watch Guam shortly after the photos surfaced on the internet and it merely shadowed the squadron as it moved."

Most nodded in agreement at the assumption. "Well, then that just raises the problem of the aliens already knowing our language and have access to the internet," Vere commented.

The room seemed to pause as everyone took in the thought. Weston repressed a groan as he stopped himself from planting his face into his hands. Vere raised a solid point, this would mean any information that they gave to the media, the aliens would know about. This created a problem, if the enemy had access to the internet, they could cause a lot of damage. Almost every government and military computer had some kind of access to the internet by which its security could now be potentially breached.

Weston stroked his chine as he answered. "As long as they have they haven't managed to crack our cybersecurity, then it should limit the extent of the damage they can do, at least to our security."

"Who's to say that they have not already done so," Emerson said as he glanced over. "Our enemy is an advanced alien race that is capable of breaching the light speed barrier and transporting naval fleets to our world. Who is to say that they have not already breached our security?"

Again, the room seemed to pause as the realization hit. Haywood had already whipped out a notepad and was writing furiously. "We're not in a movie gentleman. Our enemy is more advanced than we are, and must assume that they are as capable in military strategy and tactics as we are, if not superior. We can not take out the possibility that the enemy hasn't already breached our security and have access to our communications."

By the time Emerson finished speaking, Weston was only half listening, nor was he the only one distracted by what Emerson was saying. Almost everyone in the room was staring at Haywood. The reaction that Haywood had had to the revelation that aliens were invading paled in comparison to the man's current reaction. The director's left eye had a slight twitch as he entire body seemed ready to spring up from his chain.

"If you gentlemen would excuse me for a moment, I have an urgent called that needs to be made," Haywood said quietly as he stood.

Weston was nearly floored as Haywood left the room and his feelings seemed to be mirrored throughout the room. It was not Haywood had said that shocked them or the volume by which he had spoken. No, what had shocked them was his tone. It held a quiet, seething rage that bubbled under the surface. He knew not what exactly made Haywood so angry that his tone reflected it, but he knew that he would have better luck killing an alien ship with his bare hands than getting the man to talk about it.

After a short silence, he cleared his throat to get the meeting back on track. "Moving on, was there anything else that any of you noticed?"

"The enemy lacked effective AA from what we noticed. They only fired solid projectiles from their forward-facing barrels. This gives our aircraft a significant advantage when engaging them with air power." (G.W captain) replied as he refocused on the meeting "Now, as Captain Emerson mentioned, we're not in a movie and our enemy is likely competent in warfare. We can't assume that the aliens will overlook this flaw and will likely fix this weakness in short order."

"Inform your pilots and I'll inform the Nimitz and Roosevelt about this. For now, we have air superiority and I want to capitalize on it. We can use satellite imaging to try and find where the enemy is and strike at them using our carriers."

"If I was to hazard a guess, they're probably inside that massive typhoon somewhere," Adams spoke as he crossed his arms. "It's the only reasonable place they could be."

Vere nodded, though he didn't look fully convinced. "I can see it, seeing how the typhoon showed up out of nowhere in a fashion that has never been seen just before the aliens arrive, but still. That storm is massive and the waves aren't calm under those clouds. Winds in category 4 hurricanes reach over 150 miles per hour and the waves can reach 90 feet high. This typhoon is, quite literally, doesn't fit the chart, how could they just sit under it without running into complications. They've likely moved out from under it and are simply using it as a distraction to draw our focus away from their true base of operations."

"It's as Emerson said," Adams argued "these aliens are far beyond us in technology. They may have some means of staying safe in the storm."

Weston let the debate on whether or not the aliens were still under the typhoon continue for a few minutes to give him some time to think. Unfortunately, thinking only brought frustration at the current situation. The entirety of current events was alien to what he was used to. If they were dealing with humans, then they would at least an understanding of their opponents. They would know what weapons they had, the tactics they might use, who were their allies, what technology, locations.

When dealing with aliens, everything they knew went out the window along with almost every tactic that they had to deal with the enemy. Conventual tactics and strategies relied on the opponents having the same limitations on transportations, technology, supply, and weaponry.

How did one fight against an enemy that likely held control of space and could move troops freely around the planet without issue? How did one fight against an enemy that had access to the near infinite amount of resources of space? How did one hide one's plans if the enemy could simply breach any security one put up and see it all?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and held it for ten seconds, slowly counting down the time in his head. Now was not the time to fall to piece thinking about scenario after scenario until he broke himself. He had to focus on what he currently knew and what he could do with that information.

He opened his eyes as he slowly let out his breath. "Regardless of whether or not the enemy is still under the storm, we will make little headway in finding them arguing about it in this meeting."

"Agreed Admiral," Haywood stated as he reentered the room, closing the door behind him. He could tell that the man had calmed down and returned to his normal demeanor once again.

"Haywood," he nodded "is everything alright? You left the room in quite the hurry."

"The current situation is unknown. Captain Emerson brought up a point that I had not thought of. We lack information and knowledge about our enemy, we know nothing of the abilities or technology. Therefore, until the time that we can prove that they have not, we must assume that the enemy can and has breached our security, and we must make every attempt to close the breaches and prevent future breaches of security."

He nodded at Haywood's declaration, but then a thought crossed his mind. "But you just said that there's no evidence that they have broken our codes and have access to our networks. If you just assume that they've already broken, you might end up running around trying to fix nonexistent holes and wasting time and effort."

"If we take a relaxed stance to this situation, then we will risk the enemy knowing all of our movements and plans. They will be able to strike at us on the favorable ground with full knowledge of our plans. If we do not act, it will cost the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of sailors' lives. I will not allow such a risk to pose a threat to the lives of our countrymen if such a possibility exists."

Haywood wasn't going to compromise on this issue, and he honestly wouldn't have it any other way. He let out a quiet chuckle as he shook his head. "I'm not saying to do nothing, just don't spend all of your time trying to plug imaginary holes."

"As of right now, I have ordered our normal codes to be scrambled and all passwords are to be changed every five minutes until we get a grasp on the situation. However, this is merely a stop-gap measure. A more permanent solution will need to drafted at a later date."

"That's all I ask." Weston once again turned back to the other officers in the meeting. "Moving off the topic of security, is there anything else that caught your attention during the battle?"

"Yeah," Adams spoke up as he leaned forward "there was something that bugged me about the actions of the aliens near the end."

He thought back through the report that the men had given to what actions that Adams was referring to. There was only one particular event that came to his mind. "The suicide charge?"

Adams nodded "Yeah, I don't understand why they would do it."

"They were caught between the 1st and the reinforcements with enemy air superiority overhead. They were not left with many options." Barrett replied.

"Yeah, that's true, but you would think they would try something cleverer than just rushing the cargo ship like that. I mean, we got our hands on the first vessel through a lucky hit on our part. Them rushing in like that almost gave us another opportunity to grab a second vessel. It was just a stupid action on their part if you think about it."

Many of the other men in the room chuckled as they realized that Adams had a point. At least two of the alien vessels had been left afloat by the end of the turkey shoot and could have been saved from sinking and brought in for study. Only the sudden attack by the alien sub had distracted them from realizing and grabbing them.

Haywood cleared his throat to bring "Regardless of the rationale behind the admittedly foolish action, the action was taken. From the limited information we can guess at from the two engagements that you've had with them, we believe that the alien vessels are controlled using some sort of dumb A.I. It carries out its ordered objective regardless of the consequences. It is possible that the A.I. concluded that the optimal solution to completing its mission was to rush all units forward to sink the ship."

Weston let out a chuckle before bringing the conversation back to a more serious topic. "Moving on, one thing I wanted to bring up is the issue of the alien submarines. As of now, we can't even detect their surface craft, and now our enemy has unleashed a stealth craft that can strike undetected. Do any of you have any ideas on how to deal with them?"

"Nope" Called Adams.

"I apologies Vice Admiral Weston, but I currently do not have any ideas or strategies that could be used against the alien submarines," Barrett replied.

Weston got similar responses from the rest of the officers in the room. He hadn't put much hope in actually finding a potential solution to the issue so quickly and easily. It just never hurt to ask. "I was just checking to see if anyone had a potential solution. We've only just run into them. I would have been pleasantly surprised if someone had thought of something."

"I would suggest until we find a better solution that we use standard anti-submarine warfare tactics." Emerson gave a shrug. "They weren't designed to work against what we're up against, but they seem to at least keep the sub at bay for a while and keep it off us as we made our way back."

"Well, I guess that will have to do for now." He glanced around the room as he spoke. "Unless anyone else has anything they wish to bring up, we can wrap up this meeting here."

The officers began to chat with one another as Weston exited the room and making his way to his office. There was a large amount of information to digest. He also had to prepare all of said information into a presentation for the other admirals and Naval Secretary.

"When Emerson and I spoke about the security breach, the full range of implications were not discussed," Haywood spoke as he matched pace beside him.

"Oh?"

"If our enemy is truly capable of breaching our cyber defenses, then they likely know more than just our plans. They know our weapons and their capabilities, they know our allies weaknesses and strengths as well as our own. I also do not believe that the enemy will only target military and governmentally targets."

Weston glanced at Haywood. "Do you think that they're planning for a total war?"

Haywood shook his head. "I do not have the information necessary to make a prediction on the question. However, we are not dealing with humans. We can not assume that they think as we do. They're opening targets were civilian vessels, which leaves several potential possibilities. They may just target anything they believe to be an enemy, not making the distinction between military and civilian targets. They may be attempting to draw attention, for what reason I do not know. The last possibility is what I fear most."

"That being?"

"The targeting of the market."

Weston gave the man a puzzled look.

"90% of all the world's trade is done via shipping. By attacking the sea lanes, they prevent trade and slow the global market."

"Oh." Weston was beginning to realize the results of such an event.

"There is also the issue of that almost all banking and financial transactions are done electronically. The enemy likely possesses cyber warfare technology far outstripping our own. If they wished, they could very likely crash all of the world's economies and wipe out all electronic bank accounts overnight."

"OH."

"This is no longer a military issue Admiral. This is a global crisis if we do not act now."

Weston sighed as they reached his office. "I hope you've got some extra strength coffee somewhere in your office Haywood. Because neither of us is getting any sleep tonight."

/-/

 **5/21/2020 - 8:44 PM**

 **Yokosuka, Japan**

The mood in the room was a celebratory one. Loudly chatting with one another over drinks, roars of laughter could be heard over the din of noise. Many held drinks in their hand as they recounted their tale of the battle to the men who had been on base who early listen to their tales.

Amos chuckled at a group of men who were playing a game of beer pong. One of the men was clearly more than a little tipsy as he threw the ball full force straight down at the table where it bounced back up and smacked him between the eyes.

Deciding to intervene before one of them did something that got them in trouble. "Alright, I think this one has had enough." He said with a smile as he clapped the man's shoulder.

"What, no, I'm still, hick, good commander. Honestly, I can go another three rounds." The man's voice was confident in his ability to last as it was slurred. Perhaps he very well could last another three rounds, but the potential ramifications of letting him do so would likely not be worth it.

Glancing at one of the man's mate, he nodded to the drunk man. His friends seemed to agree with his assessment of their friend. One of them steering him around and out the door.

"Ah, too bad, I've lost my teammate. You going to fill in for him?"

Amos turned back to the other beer ponger. The young man couldn't have been more than 25, with sandy brown hair and grass green eyes. "Seeing as I sent your mate to bed, I'll fill in. Nickolas Amos." He said as he stuck his hand out.

"Richard Eagle, pilot for the George Washington," Richard answered with a firm handshake.

"Eagle? Interesting last name." He shot the ball off the table and landed it in one of the cups.

Richard chuckled as he threw his ball. "You're not the only one. I won't deny, it's a little unique."

"So, you're a flyboy huh. Were you stationed anywhere else before getting transferred here or is this your first deployment?"

"I spent two years in the gulf flying close air support. I flew over a hundred air sorties and responded to about sixty air support requests. I come over with the George Washington when she got moved to Yokosuka."

Amos nodded as he drank from the cup that the opposing team scored in. "Did you see combat the other day?"

Richard face split into a smirk. "See combat? I was the one to find the aliens. Managed to sink one of the bustards before I ran out of missiles and had to turn back."

Amos looked over the rim of the cup at Richard. "Ah, then let me give you my thanks. You gave us some much-needed heads up and greatly thinned their numbers. You help save a lot of our men's lives that day."

Richard smiled at him as he too grabbed a drink off the table. "Ah, it was nothing, just doing my job."

"What was your reaction to first seeing them."

He paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "A mix of interest and displeasure. I had seen some photos of the one you guys had captured, so I at least knew what I was looking at. But it's one thing to see it in a photo and to look down at them from several hundred feet in the air."

Amos looked over at the man with a curious look. "Say, how did you hit them if you were several hundred feet up. I'm guessing you were diving, but even still. That must have been difficult."

"I'm not going to say it was easy. My jet was equipped with tracer rounds and a front cam. I used both the line up my laser for the lead. The two years of close air support helped greatly. I've have had to hit some fleeing trucks before, so I've had some practice leading my shots with missiles."

"Always nice to have an ace pilot on one's side." Amos chuckled.

Richard laughed. "I'm not an Ace yet, I've only sunk one. I managed to make it back and damage another before the fight ended though. I need another four kills to make myself an ace. But thank you for the compliment."

As they chatted and continued the game, one thought stuck in Amos's mind. _Laser guided huh, now there's a thought._

 **Fin.**

 **AN: Just a quick note after the long intro. Sorry for the time it took to get this out, I lost 1.5k words about a week ago when it didn't save which delayed the release.**

 **Also, I have to thank anyone who read this fic before I did some massive clean up that came just before this update. Seriously, how anyone got past the first two chapters is beyond me. The quality was low and the amount of spelling and grammar mistakes hurt to look at during clean up.**

 **Sorry for all the changes that have been happening recently, but I've gotten an**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, complications prevented the release of this chapter. Once again, a big thanks to Uike4 for the help in editing of the work.**

 **Chapter 8**

 **On the Ocean**

 **?/?/? - ?**

 **Ocean?**

Amos smiled as the men around him laughed. The weather was pleasant as they sailed across the ocean for their latest mission. A cool breeze blew that combated the heat from the sun's rays.

"So, what are you guys going to be doing when you get back home?" One of the sailors on the bridge asked.

"I don't know, maybe take a break from the world and just sit around. "

"Come on be more imaginative than that. I'm planning to spend some time with my girl. Hit up Six Flags back home. I always did love rollercoasters."

"Well, I'm going to get home and spend some time with my grandparents. I haven't seen them in a bit, and the last time I talk to them, grandpa wasn't doing that well."

He smiled as the men talked about their plans for once they arrived home. This was the last mission before returning, so everyone was excited to get it over with. It would be sad to see some of them go, as they didn't plan to re-enlist, but they would live on in his memories of them.

"So, what are your plans, Sir?"

He smiled. "Head home for a bit, check in with the family before coming on back."

The man shook his head. "I swear, sir, you're about as attached to the Navy is as the Captain."

He simply smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment. Besides, the Captain is getting on in years, someone has to be around to take over when he retires. Who else is going to take care of the gal." He said as he patted the side of the bridge.

He felt a hand land on his shoulder. "Well, if anyone were to take over command, then you would be the best-"

Before the man could finish his sentence, a loud explosion rocked the bridge as glass and metal flew inward. The room was painted crimson as the other two men in the room were shredded from the shrapnel.

Before he could stare at the scene, the sound of ripping flesh sounded in front of him. He felt a hot liquid splash across his face. A piece of hot metal was lodged in the man's throat. The hand on his shoulder slipped from its place as the man whispered "Why?" before falling over.

He could only stare at the carnage in front of him. A massive hole had been opened in the side of the bridge. Letting in the cool breeze that had at one point felt so pleasant, now making him feel cold as he stared at the corpses of his comrades.

Looking up from his fellow sailor's bodies and out the hole, he found the cause. A single shape sat out in the ocean's waves, staring back at him with those eyes that burned with that pale, inhuman flame.

How could he have missed such an obvious thing? Why didn't he check with the lookouts? His job was to watch out for the crew and make sure they stayed safe. It had been sitting right there, yet he had missed it. The mistake had cost lives, all due to his negligence.

"Why?" those words rang in his mind. Why them and not him? He was the one that had failed to see this coming and had gotten them killed. So why did he yet live why they paid the ultimate price?

Why, why, why, WHY. That single word continued ringing in his mind. Get louder and louder. It should have been him and not them.

Why, why, why.

* * *

 **5/23/2020 - 3:28 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Amos awoke with a start, nearly springing up from his bed as he panted. His body and sheets were soaked in sweat. "It was just a dream, it was just a dream."

He continued reciting that mantra as he crossed his room over to the bathroom and downed a glass of water. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. If he was honest with himself, he looked like shit. His chocolate hair was slick with sweat and was wildly thrown in all directions, and he looked like he had just gotten in from a three-day long bender.

"Let it go. You did all you could." He said to his reflection, but his words felt hollow. Had he really done all he could? He hadn't been watching the battlefield when they had been struck, instead of looking towards Emerson for their next move.

"I won't let it happen again." He growled as he splashed his face with cold water.

Amos stumbled back over to his bed. "I have to *yawn* work harder." He muttered before the darkness took him once again.

* * *

 **5/23/2020 - 9:00 AM**

 **National Institute of Advanced Science and Technology, Tokyo, Japan**

"Doctor Ryou Shou?"

He smothered a yawn as he nodded with a small smile. "Yes." He wasn't as young as he used to be and when he wasn't working, his body often requested sleep. His family and colleagues often joked that if he didn't work, he would be in a coma.

"It is an honor to meet you. I have heard great things about the work you've done in the field of quantum physics." The man said as he put his hand out.

Shou humored the man and shook the outstretched hand. He preferred a traditional bow when greeting people. However, his time spent working both overseas and with foreign associates had adjusted him to western forms of greeting.

"The name's Franklyn Cornell. Weapons Engineer from DARPA. I'm looking forward to working alongside you, Doctor Ryou."

Shou raised an eyebrow. "DARPA? Is that not an arm of the American Department of Defense? I am surprised that your government is so brazen as to send a government agent instead of one who appears neutral."

Franklyn chuckled. "Oh, I doubt there is anyone here that is actually neutral. Besides this is a group project, there won't be any secrets hidden from other parties." His cheerful expression turned more serious. "This matter is not something that can be handled lightly. It will take a coalition working together to solve this alien threat. We won't get far in dealing with an invasion by hiding information key to trying to stop it. "

Shou was actually impressed with the man. It was rare to find an American that didn't think that the world was helpless and thought America was the only solution. He felt some begrudging respect for the man, at least he seemed to have his head on straight.

"Now then," Franklyn stepped to the side and waved down the hall. "how about we go meet the rest of the group."

He nodded and followed at a slow walk. "So, may I inquire who has been chosen so far?"

"So far, only the larger nations have sent representatives. That is the ones that could get through the red tape. My appointment was challenged unsurprisingly, but America has enough influence to ignore most of the challenges. Currently, only America, Britain, France, Germany, Japan, China, and Russia have sent people. Though more should get through with time."

Politics, one of his least favorite subjects. All it ever did was get in the way of scientific advancement. "Do you know anyone who has been caught in the red tape?"

"Yeah, a lady from Brazil and a gentleman from Mexico. Many of the Central and South American countries are fighting to add their own people in. We need all hands on deck for this, but politicians view the world differently from us. They think that if they give the smaller countries a voice that they'll lose some of their own. I've heard that Iran has offered one or two people, but America is opposing them with all their might."

Shou let out a sigh. "Can politicians ever see the larger picture. They need to set aside politics to work towards a greater common good."

Franklyn shrugged. "To them, they do see the larger picture, and it is we that do not understand the grand scheme that they see."

He merely shook his head as the Franklyn opened a door on the right and led him into a meeting room with five other people seated around a table.

"Allow me to introduce the renowned Quantum mechanic, Doctor Ryou Shou."

A man about his about his own aged stood up and walked over with his hand outstretched. "My name is Aristarkh Yevgeniy." His voice was a thick yet understandable Russian accent. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Doctor Ryou finally. I am a fan of your work."

He accepted the outstretched hand. "Yevgeniy. I believe I've heard that name before. Didn't you work with Ludvig Faddeev on his Faddeev equations?"

Aristarkh smiled. "Da, that was some of my most exceptional work. I am pleased to hear that you have heard of my work."

"Well, since we are self-introductions, I might well join in." An excellent British accent cut in.

A relatively tall elderly gentleman with parted pepper and salt hair and matching mustache approached. He offered a handout. "Allow me to introduce myself, good sir. I am Professor James Gyles, one of Britain's leading Translators from Oxford. I am currently fluent in thirty-two languages and was studying the Oriya language before being called for this assignment. I have a team already prepared to start deciphering the alien language that Mister Hui gets from the alien computer systems."

Again, Shou shook the hand before him as looked over the man before him. The man had to be the most British person he had ever meet. The only way the man could have topped it was by having a bowler hat, a monocle, and a cup of tea in his hands. Though he did spot a cup of tea sitting on the table where Gyles had been sitting.

"Bonjour, Doctor Ryou. My name is Timothe Leon, a Naval architect here to study the alien's designs. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Shou nodded a greeting, silently hoping that the introductions would be over soon. They seemed to be dragging this out for no reason. Unfortunately, there were still two people remaining.

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Shou, I am Joachim Ludwig, a chemist sent to represent Germany. I will be studying the fuel, the composition of the material used, and any other fluids from the alien vessel."

Again, Shou simply smiled and nodded. Wondering why on earth they were explaining everything to him when they would go over it in the upcoming meeting.

The last man in the room had not gotten up from the table to introduce himself. Shou assumed this was Mister Hui that Mister Gyles had mentioned. While he was thankful for the man for not getting up to introduce himself like the others, the look he was receiving wasn't the friendliest.

He merely gave him a nod and sat down at the table, making sure to not sit across from him and prepared from the introduction meeting.

* * *

 **5/23/2020 - 9:58 AM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

After blitzing through his morning paperwork, Amos started his search for a person that could help him with his little idea. His search had led him to the base's weapon's maintenance department. From there, he was pointed to the missiles department. After that, a quick question to a staff member lead him to the department's head's office.

Knocking on the door that was labeled "Director of Missile Technicians, Head missile technician James Darius," earned him a gruff "Enter."

The man glanced up from his paperwork as Amos entered. "You aren't the usual type to come here."

"No, but I came here because I wanted to ask a few things and propose an idea. The name's Amos."

"James Darius." The man returned. "Either way, why come to my office. Normally you go through your superior officer with ideas, and then several meetings and higher-ups before you come to me."

He shrugged. "I decided to cut out that part, didn't want to waste time with the idea that might not even be possible."

"That being?"

He looked the man dead in the eye as he asked. "Can you make harpoon missiles laser guided?"

Darius frowned. "Why would you want that? They already are quite accurate, and the guidance system is some of the best we have."

"Yeah, but they're useless against the aliens."

Darius sighed. "We're not sure on that. We've only had two run-ins with them; it's too soon to say they don't work."

"And in those two engagements, we've already lost fifty sailors because we got stuck in a slugging match like it was 1944. We need those missiles if we are to win this war, and we need them now. We can't just keep fighting them on their terms." Amos said coolly, keeping the displeasure off his face.

The man looked back at him from across the desk. "Okay, you have a point on us needing the missiles. Regardless, no Harpoon missile is equipped with laser-guided aiming."

Amos nodded. "I didn't think so, but that wasn't the question. The question is can you make a Harpoon missile laser guided. Or can they be optically guided if the aliens find a way to disrupt the laser guidance system?"

Darius raised an eyebrow. "You mean equip it and reprogram the weapon to be laser guided?"

"Yes."

"We're talking about taking a $1.2 million missile, messing with its design and code that have been worked on for over thirty years."

"Pretty much." Amos shrugged. "Can it be done?"

"Oh, it can be done," Darius snorted "But the results might not be what you're expecting."

"I'm being serious, could you and your team rework a Harpoon missile into being laser guided. We put the laser painter on a helicopter that can be launched from our ships who paint the target, and the ship fires the missile."

Darius leaned back in his chair and contemplated it. "It could be done, but I'd need approval from the Vice Admiral. Most people don't want you going and messing with expensive weapons as toys without a good reason."

"Obviously," Amos chuckled. "all I wanted to do was see if it was possible." His expression turned more serious. "We need those missiles. Something tells me that the aliens aren't going to keep the 'made in China' boats they've been using for long, especially after the last mission."

Darius nodded. "All right, I'll see what can be done. Unless there is anything else you wanted to talk about, everything else is outside of your hands."

He nodded before standing and extending his hand out. "Hope this gets off the ground. I wish you luck in the endeavor."

Darius shook the hand. "I have a feeling that we're going to need it."

* * *

 **5/23/2020 - 10:00 AM**

 **National Institute of Advanced Science and Technology, Tokyo, Japan**

To say that Shou was excited would be an understatement. Only an otaku given free range over Akihabara with an unlimited credit card could match his excitement. How could he not? Not only was he part of a team of some of the best scientists in the world, but they were working with an actual alien vessel utilizing new and advanced technology that they had not yet discovered.

He couldn't wait to try and discover how the alien vessel weighed fourteen hundred pounds despite only being ten feet long and five high. The others mirrored his enthusiasm as they made their way through the facility towards their test subject.

Franklyn was talking with Leon about weapons and how they could fit within the ship. Mr. Gyles was discussing with Hui on his thoughts the alien system's might work and the challenge of translating the alien's computer code into something understandable. He, Yevgeniy, and Joachim were discussing the different facets of the alien vessel. The ship's material composition, how functioned, and its power source.

Eventually, the reached a double sliding door that opened into a moderately sized laboratory. Their prize sat in the middle of the room like the prized car at a car show if said car was something literally out of the world and had a blank check price tag.

The design was indeed something to behold. It was the color of charcoal with a peculiar tubular shape, similar to that of an upright airfoil. With the rounded front having facial features of that of eyes and a mouth. What they could be for was beyond Shou. Though the right side possessed a hole in it where he assumed a Naval round had struck. The rear tapered off with more armor covering past it over the top of the rudder.

To say that the group was more than a little surprised by the sight of the vessel would have been an understatement.

Mr. Gyles was the first to voice his thoughts. "My word."

"Enfoncer l'enfer, what is this monstrosity," Leon muttered.

"Language, mister Leon." Mr. Gyles chided

"Who gives a damn about language now, James. We're staring at an alien craft that defies all logic right now." Franklyn said, not taking his eyes off the vessel.

"How does this abomination even float!" Leon said one of his eyes started to twitch. "By all rights, this should sink the moment it was set into the water."

Shou managed to tear his eyes away from the display to watch the Frenchman have a little breakdown.

Leon placed a hand on his head as he strode towards the object of his distress. "The shape is all wrong. Why is it wider on the top and not the bottom? Where are the propellers? Why is the only barrel in its mouth? Why does it have a mouth, to begin with?"

By this time, the poor man's voice was becoming hysterical as he continued to list the issues with the craft. Most of the research group quietly watched with varying degrees of amusement. Mr. Gyles was attempting to hide his small smile behind a fake cough to appear less rude. Ludwig and Hui were merely smiling while Yevgeniy let out a bellowing laugh.

Franklyn gave a sad smile as he walked over to the ranting man in front of him and tapped him on the shoulder. Leon turned in the middle of his rant with twitching eyes to receive a solid slap from the American.

"Was that truly the best means that you Americans can think of when dealing with a ranting man?" Mr. Gyles

"Hey, it worked didn't it?" Franklyn said with a shrug. "Besides, he was ranting and holding us up from getting any actual research done on this thing." Cornell glanced over his shoulder. "You're not wrong though, that thing is an abomination."

Leon took a moment to collect himself after his near breakdown. "I am glad that someone agrees with me." Turning to the rest of the group. "I must apologize for that; it was rather unprofessional of me."

"Well, that was quite the spectacle." A voice from their left laughed. Turning his head, Shou was greeted by a woman who appeared to be in her 40's with light brown hair and grass green eyes. "Greetings gentlemen, my name is Lina Balthasar, and I am the lead coordinator for this project."

Franklyn tilled his head. "Lead coordinator?"

"Yes, because we know virtually nothing about this vessel." Lina waved in the alien vessel's direction. "Nothing about the technology used in it or the language, we need to coordinate between the various branches of research. It is possible that breakthroughs can be made by learning and identifying how all the parts fit together."

"If you are the lead coordinator, may I ask a few questions?" Hui stepped forward.

"Of course."

"It appears to me that the head has suffered damage. Was there anything actually recovered that I can work with?" Hui asked skeptically.

Shou had to agree with the man. The head had suffered a direct hit. Logically, that would be where the computer systems and most of the electronic systems would be. Though, with how outrageous the vessel already was, it wouldn't surprise him if all of the electronics were in the tail of it.

Lina nodded her head. "A valid worry, not to worry, however. We have not been idle why waiting for all of you to arrive. We've managed to salvage what we believe to be some of the alien's computer."

Hui let out a small sigh. "At least the Americans didn't destroy everything."

"Now then gentlemen," Lina waved to some staff members standing off to the side "the assistants will lead you to your stations so that you can begin your work."

The group nodded and allowed themselves to be lead off to their workstations.

* * *

 **5/23/2020 - 4:41 PM**

 **Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan**

Weston let out a yawn as he continued to work through his never-ending pile of paperwork. The last few days had taken a lot out of him with all of the late-night meetings about what the aliens could potentially be doing with the internet and the threats it posed. The last meeting had gone on for hours about cybersecurity for both civilian and military as well as what they should be doing to prep their bases for.

Why a Vice Admiral was needed for a meeting on cybersecurity was beyond him, but he was forced to stay regardless. Weston took a nice long drink from his mug of coffee and enjoyed the bliss. Oh, how thankful he was that his wife had shown him this blend. It was precisely what he needed to help him wade through the paperwork.

Setting aside the mug of bliss, he pulled the next piece of paper. Another request for an escort, how many did this make. This was the main reason for all of his recent meetings, how to deal with shipping across the Pacific. A third of all of the world's trade flowed through the Pacific, with the typhoon and now alien incursion, business was suffering.

Weston could hardly blame the people. Who would want to go out into waters where aliens were waiting to sink them? The United States might have the largest navy in the world, but escorting thousands of ships was far beyond anything even the American Navy could handle.

So that left them with the issue of how to deal with how to move thousands of ships safely through contested waters, routinely enough to not harm the economies of countries, and try and fight an alien invasion. All the while trying to keep supplied, their men alive and rested, and not lose control of the ocean.

The simple answer, they couldn't. There was no way that 7th and 3rd fleets could possibly keep up with the demand. They were now at war and sacrifices would need to be made, a number had already given all. It was a balancing act between trying to keep goods moving safely while making sure that they didn't overstretch themselves.

Their current method they were trying was moving ships across the East China Sea, up through the Sea of Japan, around the outskirts of the Sea of Okhotsk before sticking to the coast of Russia and across the Bering sea to America. It was a long trip, but it substantially cut down on the amount of ocean that needed to be patrolled, and it was relatively safe.

The aliens had so far shone a reluctance in coming too close to land, so they were going to take advantage of that for as long as they could. The plan was to form a Chain of protection along their trade route all the way through the Marianas and down to New Zealand.

The hope was to get China and Russia to help patrol the lanes. Australia had been lacking in the necessary ship classes to patrol much more than their own waters. And after the loss of two of their ships, they would be hard pressed to try and patrol the trade lanes by themselves.

He was taking another pull from his mug when his phone beeped. "Sir, call from Director Darius. Would you like me to put him through."?

Weston paused for a second. Darius was the head of missile technicians, so why would he call him? "Put him through."

"Vice-Admiral Weston, sir. I have a proposal to make."

He raised an eyebrow. "That being?"

"A person came in earlier and proposed an interesting idea. If we can't use traditional radar guidance systems to aim Harpoon missiles, why not refit the missiles to be laser guided."

His other eyebrow rose to match his fist. "Is that even possible? We're talking about messing with a million-dollar missile that has been developed and improved upon for over thirty years. And you want to take one and retrofit it to be laser guided?"

Weston had to work to keep his voice level. His words made him sound doubtful of the project, but his feelings couldn't be further from that. This could potentially be what the Navy needed to push back against the aliens.

"I was doubtful myself at first, but it's not as outrageous as it first sounds. We have several missiles in stock that are laser-guided and know how they function and are programmed. The most we would have to do to get a Harpoon missile ready is to attach an optical sensor to the front and reprogram parts of its guidance software. There would be a few kinks to work out of the system so we would need to do test runs to make sure the system works before full deployment."

He felt a grin slowly spreading across his face. "how many missiles do you think you would need to get this off the ground?"

"Right now, we've estimated three missiles to work the major issues out and give us something to work with. Just a warning, however," Darius's tone held an edge "there's no guarantee that this will work."

"I'll sign off permission for five. I don't care if it takes ten or twenty missiles before you work the system over. We need those missiles now if we are to keep our boys alive and the trade lanes open."

"Understood, sir. We'll begin working right away."

And with that, the line went dead. Weston sat back in his chair with a smile. Things were starting to look up.

/-/

There were many perks to being at the rank Master Chief Petty Officer. He got a higher pay, and he didn't have to do as much manual labor. But at the same time, being at the top enlisted rank presented its own challenges. He was swamped with paperwork, and he had to attend staff meetings that he didn't have to when he at a lower rank. And all of those things were before he ended up in charge of a supply depo for one of the largest naval bases in the world.

Cavan wanted desperately to get off duty and got drinking with some of his friends, yet here he was stuck moving through the mire of requests, requisitions, and shipping lists. As he pulled up yet another file on his computer, his desk phone started to ring.

Remembering the last time that he had flippantly answered such a call only to get the Vice-Admiral, he paused his work and gave his full attention to the call. "Master Chief Cavan speaking."

"Uh, Master Chief, this is armory three."

Armory three was munitions and missile storage. "Okay, what's the issue?"

"Well, the missile techs just got here wanting five Harpoon missiles."

Cavan frowned "Okay, why is that a problem. I know we're normally the ones sending them the missiles, but what is the issue?"

"Well, they aren't here for maintenance sir. They've come to pick up five Harpoon missiles that they've cleared for, and I quote 'refit.'."

He blinked. "Refit?"

"Yes, Chief. They slapped a requisition order on the desk for five Harpoon missiles with the Vice-Admiral's signature on it."

Cavan scowled, he didn't get paid enough to deal with the entire base's supply management and deal with whatever the techs were cooking up. "If they've got the signature, then it's out of our hands. Get them the missiles and log it into the system. We don't get paid enough to deal with whatever they're up to."

"About that, they already walked off with them about a minute ago, sir."

"Alright then, just log it in." He sighed as hung up the phone. While there were days when he loved his job of keeping track of the base's supply. It was days like today where all he wanted to do was put himself under a table so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

* * *

 **5/24/2020 - 1:29 PM**

 **North Pacific Ocean**

"Captain Stanford, we've received word from helo three that they've spotted the convoy. They should reach us within three and a half hours."

"Acknowledged," Standford replied nodding. He looked away from the window and back over towards the radio man. "Have all helos checked in?"

"Gull three, one, six, four, and five have all called in. Helo two has yet to check in. Should I raise the alert Captain?"

He quickly glanced down at his watch "They have a minute before they need to check in. If they don't check in within the minute, order general quarters."

"Aye aye, sir."

Stanford sat down in his chair for the wait. The system they had in place was a relatively simple one. Launch the helicopters from the destroyers and cruiser to act as an early warning system for the strike group. They then, if alerted, would call the USS John C. Stennis stationed a few miles further back for air support.

Now that they knew the range of the alien satellite jammer, they could turn it into an early warning. The task force would also have air support for Cold Bay on standby. Overall, Stanford felt pretty good about the operation. A simple convoy escort with plenty of air support if things went south.

He, of course, did not say this out loud. He was confident, not stupid. Just then the radio crackled as it relayed through all channels. "Strike Group Three, this is Helo two. Alien satellite jamming detected and visual confirmed. We have aliens inbound."

Stanford contemplated for a second kicking himself for even thinking that this was going to be a smooth operation before pushing the thoughts away to focus on the task at hand. Standing up, he quickly walked over to the radio and was handed the mic. "Roger. Is there anything else you can give us on the enemy?"

"Numbers unknown, however, from rough estimates we believe the enemy force to be roughly thirty vessels, sir."

He felt a shudder go down his spine. Thirty enemy vessels, not even Taffy 3 had to deal with this level of bullshit. Where the in the hell were the aliens even getting these many vessels to throw at them.

Regardless, he had a job to do, and by God was he going to do it. "Anything else helo two?"

"Yes sir," the man's voice sounded nervous. "We also spotted a secondary force breaking away from the main force. The force is heading northwest, sir."

"Oh," Stanford had to admit those were not the best words at the moment that he could have come up with, but his brain was still playing catch up. The enemy had more than thirty ships and was going after near undefended transports. All Task Force Three had was three destroyers, a missile cruiser, and an aircraft carrier with the closest help ship wise being nearly ten hours away.

"Radio the Stennis and Cold Bay, we're going to need every plan they've got if we are to have any hope of stopping them. XO, sound Battle stations."

"Aye aye, sir." The radio man said as he quickly worked to raise their back up.

Stanford looked out the window to the beautiful mid-day sky. It seemed poetic that such a pleasant view was about to see such a blood-filled day.

 **Fin.**

 **A/N: So, thoughts, opinions? Are the chapters too short, does the story make sense? I'm still learning as I go.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Yeah, I've got no real excuse for how long it took me to get this chapter out.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 **The battle for the Northern Route**

 **5/24/2020 – 1:30 PM**

 **North Pacific Ocean**

"Captain Kennard, report coming in from the Carney. The enemy force has been spotted 120 miles out. Estimated time to arrival is three hours. The enemy force is estimated to be thirty ships strong."

Kennard had wanted a simple mission, where things didn't get complicated. But life had a funny way of throwing wrenches into one's plans. "Launch all fighters, we need to reduce those numbers if we are to have any chance of getting the convoy through. Order the rest of Strike Group to start making its way towards the convoy."

"Sir," the radioman continued "reports also indicate that there is an additional force making its way towards to convoy, the numbers are unknown."

Kennard silently cursed the numbers imbalance between his force and the aliens. "Belay previous order. We can't draw both of the enemy's forces into one engagement."

He stopped for a second to think over his options. If prior reports held true, then the aliens lacked significant AA. He had a carrier fully stocked with hours of notice against the enemy. They could just pick off the enemy as they approached.

"Alert Cold Bay and have them send their flyers to support the convoy. Then get Anchorage on the horn and tell them to send every ship available, we're going to need the backup." Kennard turned to his helm's man "Turn us around and head towards Anchorage. We'll lead the aliens on a merry little chase and draw them closer to our back up.

His men scrambled to follow his orders. Below on the flight deck, the first squadron was taking off as the Stennis finished turning. They had prepared the planes for this event, parking half of their wings with a full load on the deck for takeoff. A risky setup, but good for a rapid response.

Now came the worst part, the waiting game. Oh sure, there were things to distract one's self on the bridge. Tracking launches, giving out orders and coordinating with Anchorage, Cold Bay, and his strike group. But that could only distract for a time. When the first jet dropped off the radar, and they lost communications, the bridge's background noise dropped off. They knew that it was the jammer, but the apprehension was still present.

Modern warfare relied heavily on a constant stream of information and communication. At any given moment, a commander knew what the situation on the ground was. Where their planes were, and all were talking back and forth with one another.

The aliens changed all that. No longer could they know what was happening once something entered the jammer's range. They could only sit, waiting in the dark for their men to come back out to learn more about the situation. It was a disturbing experience. How commanders of the past did this was beyond him.

It had taken less than fifteen minutes for the first jet to drop off the radar, quickly followed by another nine as the Tophatter squadron entered the jamming range.

While no one stopped doing their job, the bridge seemed to collectively hold its breath as they waited for news on what was happening. As much as Kennard would have like to say that he wasn't holding his, he have been lying with the held air to say so.

Thankfully, after five minutes, one of their birds reappeared on the radar, and the radio came to life. "Hedge-3, Hedge-3 calling USS Stennis."

The man's words were rushed, desperate to get a call through. The radio man picked up the receiver with a worried look on his face. "We hear you Hedge-3, go ahead."

"The aliens' bastards, they set a trap. They've got a mountain of flack." The pilot sounded a mixture of rage, frustration, and loss. "They've got something to mess with the heat seeker's range, so we closed in. We got within three miles, ready to fire, all nice and pretty."

The bridge had become unsettlingly quiet as the pilot continued.

"Then aliens lit us up like the fourth of July. One second, clear skies, then nothing but storms of black, sir." His voice lost the fire that had burn in it not seconds ago. It only made the report worse. "They've shredded us. Only half of the Tophatters remain, sir."

Kennard rounded on his radio man. "I want all squadrons informed of this immediately. Alert Cold Bay about this before they lose an entire squadron to this."

"Aye, Aye sir." The man was already contacting the wings in the air while his partner called up Cold Bay.

He shook his head. _Why did we expect the enemy to sit back and not upgrade their weapons after the first two losses?_

Perhaps movies and media were partly to blame. Often depicting aliens as monolithic and unchanging. This wasn't the movies, this was war. Enemies learned, and they adapted when faced with challenges.

Humanity would become the movie aliens if they didn't change as well.

/-/

5/24/2020 - 7:30 AM

Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan

Haywood sipped his second cup of coffee as he looked over intelligence reports and global news. He removed his metaphorical mask with a smile as he savored the flavor.

It was his personal blend of coffee that he kept hidden under folders in the fourth cabinet down labeled station reports, in the drawer for global weather reports. It wasn't so much as the fact that it was his own stash that he hid it but rather the flavor.

Caramel apple flavored coffee was hardly the most serious of flavors. It would weaken his persona of a cold and calculating intelligence officer he had cultivated. That and most people simple found the idea of caramel apple flavored coffee being drinkable was disturbing.

He was going for his third sip when his desk phone started blaring the alert tone. Any time that ringtone sounded, it wasn't pleasant news.

"Director Haywood speaking."

"Director, word just came in. Carrier Strike Group Three has encountered an alien force of thirty ships who are inbound for them. They've also reported a secondary force making its way towards the convoy."

 _Two full fleets deployed not five days after we crushed twenty ships strong fleet. How? How did they get these vessels to Earth?_ It wasn't by space ship, their telescopes would have spotted a craft large enough to transport such a large force entering the atmosphere.

He pushed those thoughts away for the moment. Now was not the time for analysis, that would come later.

"Alright, thank you for the report." Haywood ended the call and pressed the speed dial for Vice Admiral Weston.

They were going to need a new route for the convoy it seemed.

/-/

5/24/2020 – 1:50 PM

North Pacific Ocean

Peaceful white clouds flew past his cockpit as Headlong and his squadron raced towards the incoming alien force. Even from twenty miles out, they could see small flecks of black appearing in the distance. He bit the inside of his cheek to force down his nerves that had been building before addressing his wing.

"Warhawks, sound off."

"Warhawk two here. All systems green."

"Warhawk three, cleared for engagement."

The nerves began to settle as his twelve-man squadron sounded off with green across the board. "Alright, boys, you know this song and dance. Get in, line up your targets, fire and roll out. I don't want anyone pulling heroics here and bitting it."

"You say no heroics Headlong, but we all know you'll be leading a charge right through a cloud of flak." Grouch laughed.

"I have no clue what you speak of," Headlong said with the utmost dignity.

"Any information on what we're facing besides numbers?" Chewer asked as he adjusted his flight path.

"Not much. The latest reports stated the aliens now have murderous levels of flak and other AA on them." Headlong replied as he refocused on the mission. "There is also a report that there might be a new type of ship with this fleet. It's unconfirmed at this time, however."

"Great, so not only do the aliens develop some brains and finally use proper AA, but they also get a new ship type? Where's the balance there, where's our new fancy tech?" Gamestick complained.

"This is war, not a video game, Gamestick. As much as I agree with you on the unfairness, there isn't much we can do about it. We just have to make do with what we've got." Grouch grumbled.

"At least they had the decency to do this during the day. I'd loathe imagining what it would have taken to get Grouch out of bed if it were morning." Pinball laughed.

Headlong smiled at the chatter. The prefight batter was healthy, but good things must come to an end.

"Cut the chatter, we're hitting the jammer's range in a few minutes." He started powering up his missiles. "Confirmed working weapons are Maverick and heat seekers."

"Wait, since when do heat seekers work?" Pinball asked, "I thought our lock-on missiles didn't work."

"The radar-guided ones, yes." Headlong clarified, "But anything that produces energy also produces heat. No matter how fancy their tech is, it still produces a heat signature."

"Well shit, that makes using the Mavericks a hell of a lot easier. I heard the guy who first fought with the MAVs, he used the laser guidance while diving the enemy. I'm surprised the guy survived that stunt." Grouch commented.

"Unfortunately, the alien's have something messing with the heat cams. They only lock on if you're within a few miles."

Silence fell over the men as they approached the engagement. The flecks of black were now puff and were growing larger as they drew closer.

The nerves were back. Headlong softly chewed his cheek to calm himself long enough to enter the engagement. It was always easier to ignore the nerves in the heat of battle.

"Make your runs in one direction to avoid collisions, stay above thirty thousand feet to avoid the flak, and no heroics. I'll see you in the mess hall after this."

Cheers and warcries came over the radio from his men. The cheers died down as shapes began to form on the surface below and the skies in front to them. The flak intensified as they approached.

They could make out other fighters trying to find a way past the black wall long enough to get a lock. If they didn't find a way through soon, the strike force was screwed.

Headlong wasn't sure if the enemy had spotted them yet, and coming in from above wasn't an option. He quickly found a solution, one he didn't like. Unfortunately, the job of an officer was to make the calls no one wanted to.

"Warhawks, drop elevation and prepare for a run. We'll come at them hard and fast. Get a lock, fire, and hit the after burns. Don't stay to watch the fireworks."

With that, he nosed the jet downwards to lead the run. His squadron followed his lead, spreading out to mitigate the effectiveness of the flak. As he closed in on the enemy, he blew the covers off one his Maverick. A distinctive wine started up as the missile began searching for a target.

The reports of a new enemy ship type weren't wrong. Aside from the long and narrow heat outlines that had the same shapes as the previously encountered ships, five heat outlines were sticking out.

The outlines were taller and seemed to have more bulk. The strangest thing about them was that they didn't have proper ship shapes. They looked more like fat, round totems sitting on top of the water. Then again, the other alien ships didn't seem to fit regular ship logic to begin with. And, unless he's screen or eyes were messing with him, were those arms?

Regardless of the strange shape of the enemy ship, he had work to do. Which, unfortunately, was being hampered. His little screen showed the targets just fine, but the missiles refused to lock on.

Headlong hit his radio. "Reports on the aliens were right on them screwing with the heat seekers. Engaging after burns, let's see how well it works ."

"And he tells us no heroics, hypocrite." Grouch replied dryly. "Alright, hitting the burns."

"I feel a need. A need for speed." Pinball cheered as he banked further to the left.

With the flip of but a few switches, his speedometer rocketed skyward. Even through his ear protection, he could hear the sound bearer shattering as the jet broke Mach one for a second before he left it behind. His body forced against the seat he raced towards the aliens.

The rangefinder showed 8046 meters to his targets and closing. 7352 meters, the first rounds of flack began. He eased the stick back and forth, moving around the puffs.

6841 meters, the flack was becoming more intense by the second. The puffs of the incoming fire growing thicker, forming clouds of black. His safety belt started digging into his side as a quick flick of his stick swerved him around a cloud that had erupted in front of him.

5932 meters, the clouds had now become full storms of flack and AA fire. He abandoned all comfort as he violently threw his stick about. Were it not for his harness holding him in place, he would have been launched from the cockpit at least three times by now. His shoulders and sides ached from the beating he was giving himself.

His radio was blared with callouts and chatter from his squadron. Small tinks and pinks sounded outside of his cockpit as shrapnel from the flack struck his plane.

5149 meters, through all the explosions and radio chatter, he heard the sound that he had so wished for. The steady tone of a missile lock. To Headlong, it might as well have been the sound of angels singing.

His finger slammed onto the fire button. A quick fusish sound and he could see the missile trail as the missile raced towards its target. Not waiting around to see it hit, he buried the stick into his guts. The rear of the plane dropped like a rock, and the nose sprung skywards. Thick cloud trails formed around his wings as he raced skyward.

The edges of his vision started to grow fuzzy as the blood in his body was forced downwards. His breathing became gasps as Headlong fought to keep blood and oxygen flowing to his brain. He concentrated on slowing his leveling out his breathing, trying to steady it.

The aliens, however, took issue with his actions. Flack once again began to appear around him. Headlong banked back left, attempting to make it outside their AA range.

Once the flack fire died down, he flicked off his afterburners. No point in wasting fuel. He tapped his radio to reconnect with his squadron and get an assessment of the battle.

"Warhawk squadron, Headlong, checking in."

"You're a bloody madman, Captain." Pinball said his tone that of awe with a somber undertone.

"Report."

"We lost chewer," Grouch informed him, his voice quiet. "Gamestick got clipped by a lucky shot and had to pull back. He reported leaking fuel, I don't know if he'll make it back, sir."

Headlong grit his teeth. Two men were either down or out of the fight. He had eight remaining to try and fight thirty alien ships which were still steaming straight towards their strike group.

Even though the flak hid most of the alien fleet, he could make out a column of black smoke rising up from the water's surface. _At least there's some good news._

Headlong took a long breath and held before releasing it. "Warhawk squadron, form up on me. We're making another run."

"Sir! That's suicide. We're done two planes already." Pinball cried.

"If we don't put a dent in these bastards, the strike group is toast. We can't fall back in this fight. Every minute we waste, the closer the aliens get."

"Grouch was right. You are a hypocrite."

/-/

 **5/24/2020 – 2:30 PM**

 **North Pacific Ocean**

"You are cleared for take off."

"Planes four, twenty-three, thirteen, and ten need refueling are rearming."

"Planes eight and twenty-two have damage to the wings."

"Thirty-four, three, thirty, and nineteen have rudder damage and punctures in the body."

The bridge buzzed with activity as people called out in coming and out going planes, what planes needed repair or needed rearmament. Two coordinators stood over an overview of the Stennis's flight deck with mini cutouts of jets, moving them around to keep track of what planes were where and needing what.

Kennard and his XO stood at the operations table, the map covered the hundred square miles of the combat area. Small figurines showed his group while some random objects filled in for the cargo ships and aliens.

Kennard found that these were helpful in understanding what type of battle one was dealing with. Right now, it was the type of battle that no naval commander wanted to be in. Heavily outnumbered and one's own forces separated from the convoy they were supposed to protect.

He would have loved nothing more than this day to be a bad dream. They had already lost ten planes. Another eight were damaged, though five could be quickly repaired enough to return to the fight.

He was incredibly thankful that they had swapped out their Helicopter Maritime Strike Squadron for an additional eleven fighter jets. It gave them crucial extra firepower, adding to their forty-four strong strike group.

Fifty-five attack aircraft on one carrier three weeks ago would have been seen as a waste of firepower and aircraft in the eyes of some officers. At present, that number was starting to seem a little small to Kennard.

He would have liked to have dropped the Helicopter Sea Combat Squadron for a further eight planes. However, the threat of an attack by an alien submarine was too significant to remove all of their anti-sub helicopters.

Kennard turned his attention away from hypotheticals and possibilities to look over the reports that had been flooding in.

From the scattered reports, several of the alien ships were damaged, with two billowing out smoke. Four enemy ships had been wounded enough from them to start limping behind the main fleet. The undamaged alien ships had pushed forward undeterred by the damages that the other vessels had suffered, leaving the wounded ships behind.

The lagging ships were picked off with relative ease. This only reinforced the thought that these ships were controlled by some kind A.I. in Kennard's eyes. Only machines could be so cold as to ignore wounded comrades and leave them behind to die in such a way.

If the enemy ships were piloted by actual living beings, surely, they would have either stop to help the wounded ships. Or slowed down to shield the vessel with their wall of flak while they made repairs.

There were also three unconfirmed reports of enemy ships sunk outright. But until they could be confirmed, they were still facing twenty-six ships until a recount could be made.

Which was going to be somewhat tricky since the pilots were busy fighting for their lives and didn't have time to stop and count the ships.

"Any word from Cold Bay on their situation," Kennard asked as he moved back over to the operations table.

They had made good progress in drawing the aliens away from the convoy, drawing them further into their improvised trap. Anchorage had dispatched an additional cruiser and three destroyers as reinforcements. Planes from Eielson and Elmendorf air bases were on standby. All they had to do was pull the aliens a further into the Gulf of Alask.

"They've engaged the second alien force, sir. The aliens have been numbered at fifteen."

Kennard pinched the bridge of his nose. "In but less than a week, these aliens have pumped out more ships then the U.S. has in ten years."

His XO groaned. "That's just plain unfair."

Kennard nodded in agreement and strangely, he felt as though his ship agreed as well.

It was incredibly unfair that the aliens were able to produce ships in such vast numbers in so little time. Unfortunately, life was hardly fair, so Kennard doubted that reality would suddenly make it so America could match such production.

Refocusing his attention back to the table he contemplated their next move. The most significant issue aside from enemy armada racing towards his strike group was a lack of information.

They knew little about these ships and their capabilities. What little they had previously know was now out the window seeing as the aliens had changed their design. If they had equipped the ships with a substantial amount of AA, then it was likely that they had also increased the armor of the vessels. So the one shot through the face destruction was likely off the table.

There was also the report of a new enemy ship type, but the pilots hadn't been able to get a good look or picture of it. The only things they had were heat outlines which only gave rough outlines of what it looked like. Which again left them with questions and no answers.

The jammer prevented the typical flow of information further hampered their efforts to get a handle on the situation.

Kennard stopped and thought over his options. What was at his disposal to deal with the different problems. Information and data could be gathered by pictures and video, allowing them to analyze the purposes and functions of the enemy.

He had a solution to the video and photo problem. If he was lucky, maybe even the jammer problem. The E-2D Advanced Hawkeye wasn't pretty a pretty plane by any measurement, nor did it have any weapons, but it didn't need them. The AEW aircraft had avionic and radio suites, some of the best cameras the military could buy, and integrated satellite communications.

If anything could punch through the alien jammer, then the Hawkeye could. It wouldn't be in the direct line of fire since all it had to do was sit a few miles away from the fighting and record video.

And if they were lucky the integrated satellite communications on the plane could boost their connections enough to get through the jammer.

"XO, have the Hawkeye prepared and launched. Their mission is to go in, record video, and see if they can't get us through that damnable jammer."

"Aye, Aye sir."

"What is the distance between our group and the aliens?"

"We've managed to keep roughly ninety nautical miles distance ahead of them, sir."

Kennard took a second to pull up his mental map of the battlefield. "And our reinforcements?"

"They've only just left port twenty minutes ago, sir."

"Damn, that puts them at least five hours out. Still, we've got a buffer and if we keep pace things should work out."

Of course, as soon as things seemed to be going their way, the bridge's sound system blared to life with alarms.

"Three torpedoes detected on the sonar, sir. Inbound from the south-west. Six hundred meters and closing at! What the? It's at four hundred and sixty-six meters."

Kennard spun to his helmsman. Roaring over the alarm. "Hard to starboard, now."

The man cranked the wheel. Kennard was forced to grab onto a console to steady himself as the ship entire port side dropped as it executed its high-speed turn.

Things were even more disorganized down on the flight deck. The deck crew had no warning or time to brace. A number stumbled, and a few fell at the sudden change of angle for the floor.

A jet flew over the deck, forced to pull up from its landing at the sudden change. Headlong even saw one or two of the jets slide towards the edge with their pilots attempting to exit the planes in case the planes slipped overboard.

"Two hundred meters."

Kennard dashed over to the ship's internal com system and flicked the setting to ship wide. "All hands, brace for impact. I repeat, brace for impact." He then dropped the com piece and followed his own advice.

Not five seconds later, two explosions sounded from the rear of the bridge as the ship lurched diagonally.

"Get Combat Squadron 14 launched. They've got a sub to hunt." Kennard called, replacing the com piece back in place as a series of different alarms started blaring across the ship.

"Aye, Aye sir."

Kennard took a second recenter and straighten himself out. The rest of the bridge crew became busy as reports from across this ship started to come in.

He walked back over to the operations table and began resetting it back in order. As much as he wanted to immediately as for a status report on his ship, there just hadn't been enough time to get a full picture of the extent of the damages.

Once he had fully reset the board, he walked over to his XO to get a full report. "Status report."

"Hull breaches in engine rooms one and four as well as on the third and fourth decks in sectors C5 through C8. The crew has already sealed rooms with flooding and repair crews have begun assessing and stopping what leaks they can."

"Good, have them deal with the smaller holes. We'll get the major ones fixed once we get backed to port." Kennard nodded. "What of the engine rooms."

His XO frowned. "Both engine rooms one and four have taken on heavy water due to the blasts. The pumps are having to work overtime to keep the place at a level where the repair crews can work. Until they can get back into the room and have a look, we won't know the full extent of the damages."

Kennard massaged his head as he felt the beginning pains of an oncoming headache. "Not the best time for us to lose the engines, we need to keep moving to stay ahead of the aliens."

"That might not be possible sir." His XO said grimly. "Sensors report that we've lost both starboard side propellers as well as the starboard side rudder, sir."

Kennard let out a string of curses under his breath. The ship was crippled, and they both knew it. He couldn't order the Churchill and Lawerance to tow the carrier with an enemy sub in play.

Until they sank that sub or chased it off, the Stennis had a massive target on its back, and any ship that was towing her would be sitting ducks. They had less than three hours to hunt and sink a sub, repair two engines, get hooked up and pulled before an alien armada flattened them.

There was limited time to make a decision that affected the lives of then his six-thousand-man crew and the rest of the strike group. The best answer was not a pleasant one nor was it an easy one.

Kennard turned to his radio operator. "Contact Cold Bay and tell them we need aerial transports. As many as they can send."

"Sir?" The man's confusion was mirrored by many on the bridge.

"You have your order," He turned back to his XO "Order all nonessential personnel to be prepared to leave. Tell them to leave all personal belonging, there won't be room on the transports."

The man's face as a mix of emotions ranging from frustration, anger, and reluctant understanding.

Kennard felt a tense atmosphere settle over the bridge as he turned back to the situation table. They're lack of desire to abandon the Stennis was only matched by his own. Unfortunately, one's own desires played a distant second fiddle to his duties to keep his men alive.

But if the alien wanted to sink 'His' ship, then he was going to make them pay dearly for shell and gallon of water it took to sink the Stennis.

 **Fin.**

* * *

 **AN: Sorry if this chapter seems a worse then previous ones. I had a number of frustrations trying to write this for whatever reason. I also could not get ahold of my beta reader, so please message me about any errors you see and I'll fix them.**


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